Dead Before Drama
by Scarlett Jane
Summary: Takes place in a world where vampires have not come out of the coffin. Sookie lands a part in a play and is besotted with her leading man. Eric Northman is the perfect Dracula, but there is something about him that Sookie can't put her finger on. When a stranger named Vlad enters the scene and threatens Eric, Sookie is thrust into a world she never knew existed.
1. Chapter 1

**Dead Before Drama**

_**Takes place in a world where vamps never came out of the closet. Sookie lands a part in a play and is besotted with her leading man. Eric Northman makes the perfect Dracula, but there's something about him she can't put her finger on. When a stranger named Vlad enters the scene and threatens Sookie and Eric, she is thrust into a world she never knew existed. Oh, and she also has a new neighbor named Bill who seems to pop up at all the right moments.**_

**Chapter One**

My name is Sookie Stackhouse. I'm from the South, so that should clear up any confusion about my name. Born and raised in Bon Temp, Louisiana, and I can count on my fingers and toes the number of times I've left the state. Before you go ahead and assume my life is simple or boring, I'll let you in on a few details: I'm an orphan, and I'm telepathic.

Don't let that fool you. My life is pretty ordinary, aside from my little handicap, as I call it. I work, I go to church with my grandmother, I shop at Wal-Mart. Maybe I sound casual about it, but I've lived with this ability for twenty-five years and I try not to make a big deal about it. It's not something I walk around talking about, but I do have a reputation around town for being a little different. That's putting it nicely.

It was my night off. I usually don't spend my nights off carousing in bars, because I happen to work in a bar and another bar is the last place I want to be on my only night off during the week. That being said, I was in a bar. The reason for this was sitting to my left with a huge grin on her face, my long time friend, Tara Thornton.

"Well, this sure is a step up from Merlotte's," she said as she happily sipped her neon green drink. "Wouldn't you say, Sookie?"

I smiled back, giving a little shrug. "They're not exactly an Appletini kind of crowd over there."

"I know that, but isn't this nice for a change?"

I took a sip of my own overly sweet martini, wishing I had just gotten my usual gin and tonic. "It's different," I admitted.

"You can say that again." She winked at a man a few bar stools down - shirt and tie, clean-cut, nine to five type, and definitely not the Bon Temps type. Tara wasn't normally a big drinker, so the two cocktails she's slurped down were going right to her head. She wasn't known for making everyday bad choices, but when it came to men, she tended to be a little impulsive.

We were sitting in a place called Olive's Martini Bar in Shreveport, and she'd all but insisted we go. She spent the entire forty minute drive explaining how we needed to broaden our horizons if we were ever going to find us some men with class. Bon Temps wasn't exactly a social hub, I had to admit, but I never once pictured myself with the sort of men we were looking at presently.

She'd heard about Olive's from a customer at her clothing store, Tara's Togs. The woman went on and on about the place and made it sound like the Taj Mahal. It was about the same size as Merlotte's, the bar I work at, but that's where the similarities ended. Merlotte's was our town's watering hole, everyone's old stomping grounds. It was a place you could get a burger with your mother or have a few beers with your coworkers. Many a relationship had begun and ended around the pool table, and nothing about it ever changed. Not the menu, not the customers, not the decor.

Olive's, on the other hand, was...well, it was clean. So clean and blue, like a hospital. Fluorescent blue lighting was everywhere and it gave the place a ghostly glow. Even my tan looked pasty under those lights. And the clientele was, let's just say distinctive. The men were nicer to look at and certainly better dressed than the Merlotte's crowd, but the kind of thoughts coming from their brains was no different from the ones that came from truck drivers and highway workers. And none of them were tapping anything tonight.

Okay, back to the telepathy. Simple Sookie Stackhouse - barmaid extraordinaire and Bon Temps High School grad - is telepathic. That means I can hear people's thoughts inside my head. No, I cannot tell fortunes, and no, I cannot move things with my mind. I am not psychic and I do not have ESP. I just hear people's thoughts, and though this is not a talent I brag about, it does come in handy sometimes.

"Remind me why I'm here again," I grumbled. I was beginning to feel grumpy.

"To socialize with people who don't hang animals on their walls," she replied, spinning around on her barstool and surveying the room. "And because you're my friend and you would never make me do this by myself."

"Oh. Right."

I watched, in mild horror, as she rested her elbows on the bar and thrust her boobs so far out that the buttons on her satin blouse threatened to pop off and fly across the room. "What about that one?" she questioned.

I turned around, not caring in the least about how obvious I appeared, to see her gaze set on a middle-aged man sporting a pressed shirt and an expensive haircut. I could sort of tell just by looking at him what sort of fellow he was, but I sent out my little metal feelers anyway. _Look at her, fucking slut, she wants it so fucking bad I'd bend her over and shove it so -_

"No. Not him."

Tara pouted. "Why not? He's cute enough."

"Trust me."

"Okay, well what about him?" She pointed to another guy with her chin, younger than the first, wearing glasses and looking very smart. But he also looked nervous. _You're being paranoid, there's no one here you know just relax smile, don't forget diapers on the way home -_

"Nope, not him either."

"Darn it, Sookie," she sighed, letting her chest deflate back to regular size. "I didn't ask you to come here to be some mental man magician."

My shoulders slumped miserably. "I'm sorry, I can't help it. It's so crowded in here, it's hard not to let some of it in." My shields, as I call them, are able to come up and down when I like, but crowds get kinda overwhelming sometimes. On a real busy day at Merlotte's, I'm just as tired mentally as I am physically.

"It's all right." She gave my hand a little pat, then stood up to straighten her skirt, which was a bit shorter than she was used to. "I gotta tinkle. Don't let anyone take my seat, unless he's hot and rich. And don't read any palms while I'm gone."

"Ha," I deadpanned. As I settled on my stool and adjusted my shirt, I regretted my own wardrobe choices. I had let Tar talk me into wearing the trampiest outfit I owned, which of course had been picked out by Tara from her store. I have no problem accentuating the positive when I dress, but the black skirt and red button-up halter top I was wearing borderlined on ridiculous. (Although I seemed to fit in just fine with the overdressed peacocks parading around Olive's.)

I'm normally not this negative. In fact, I pride myself on being a glass half full type of gal most of the time. And trust me, if anyone has a right to bitch about her life, it's me. I was just feeling sorry for myself on account of the fact that I didn't date much, which was my own personal choice, but being in a place like that made it even more obvious how different I was. Different isn't always all that bad, but it's usually pretty lonely.

Down went the Appletini.

I turned around and gave the room an idle once over, and didn't see a darn thing worth the drive or the extra effort on my make-up. Everyone sort of looked the same, like they were all in an Applebee's commercial, so it caught me by surprise when my eyes honed in on someone a little different. He was tall, and very broad across the chest, like he was a swimmer or gymnast. His ashy blonde hair was cropped on his neck and left a little shaggy on the top, so a few strands fell over his forehead. And I just knew by looking at him that the charcoal colored suit he was wearing was not off the rack from the Men's Warehouse. But it wasn't his appearance that stopped me short, though he was striking. It was the look on his face. He was serious while being completely at ease, like he could just sit there and not move for an hour, like the desperation whirling around the room didn't matter to him in the least.

A sudden smile covered his face and he lounged back in his chair, revealing a woman sitting next to him. And of course, she was completely gorgeous. Blonde like me, but more sophisticated than I could ever hope to be. Her suit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, twice over. They looked lovely together and he was obviously out of my league, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. There was something about his cool demeanor and over the top looks that drew me to him. Before I over thought it, I sent out my little feelers to his brain and I got...nothing.

Nothing, a blank space where there should've been a mind.

Now, I've encountered people that I've had a hard time reading - hearing thoughts isn't that different from reading body language. Some people wear it on their faces and some people don't. Well, some people broadcast like a radio station, but not most. Sometimes I hear people's thoughts just like they were thinking in words, and sometimes the thoughts are shadowy and hidden away. With some people I see images or colors, and with others, like my boss Sam Merlotte, it's like reading a crumpled up wet newspaper. I can only see fragments of words or flashes of pictures.

But this was unlike anything I'd ever encountered; it was like a black hole in the middle of the room. So I did the only logical thing I could think of, being incredibly bored and one Appletini in - I pushed harder. I scrunched my eyes and concentrated, then pushed my feelers toward him like I wanted to knock him right onto the floor.

He turned his whole body and looked right at me. I blinked my eyes away, quickly examining one of my buttons on my shirt. After a minute, I dared a peek up and saw both of them staring at me this. Before I realized what I was doing, I stole a look into her head and saw another black hole. Her smoky eyes widened and she whipped her gaze over to the man, who was still staring a hole through me.

"Shit, shit." I quickly swiveled around and grabbed Tara's drink, the sticky contents spilling over my fingers onto the bar. "Shit."

I felt the air stir next to me, felt the empty blackness of a hidden mind, and I knew he was standing right there. So slowly I was barely moving, I turned my head to the right - uh yup, he was there alright, elbow resting on the bar, looking right past me like he didn't have a care in world other than looking like a Swedish football player. When he leaned in to order two glasses of wine, the unique scent combination of cedar, citrus, and smoky night air overwhelmed my senses. I looked him up and down, because let's face it, I was just plain ol' staring at him. He was easily over six foot, maybe closer the six four or five. Being that I'm barely 5'4", three of me could've easily fit into that suit he was gracing.

Maybe he felt me gawking at him, or maybe he didn't care, but he finally looked down at me. Brows arched into a question, the slightest smile curled up one side of his mouth. Like he was amused by me or something, like he was saying _caught ya peepin'. _

"OMG, look what I just found!" Tara bounced back onto her barstool and I realized I'd been holding my breath. She had a little piece of pink paper in her hand, like the kind you rip off the bottom of a flyer. "They're having auditions for Dracula."

I turned to her and blinked, distracted. "What?"

"The Shreveport Players. They're having auditions next week."

"So?"

Tara rolled her eyes as she took a big gulp of her drink, because she couldn't stand my apparent stupidity. This gave me a second to steal a glance over my shoulder, but the man was already on his way back to the table with the sulky blonde, who was now glaring at me like I'd left lipstick on his collar. I was actually glad at that moment I couldn't hear her thoughts, because I was pretty sure of what she was thinking.

"Remember that play we went to last spring with JB, the one his sister was in?"

"I remember that JB fell asleep three times and drooled on my pink cashmere sweater." JB was a friend of ours from high school, and one of the only guys I'd ever more than casually dated. It was easy to be with JD because he was a bit on the simple side and he was one of the only people that actually said exactly what they were thinking all of the time. He was truly a big love and one heck of a kisser, but not much of a conversationalist.

"This is the same place. They're having open auditions."

"What's that?"

"It means you can just show up and try out."

"Since when are you interested in being in a play?" I asked curiously.

"Since I'm bored with my life, Sookie," she complained. "And the last time I checked, you were too."

She was right about that. Aside from my usual job schedule and errand running, the only time I ever got out of the house anymore was with Tara or my grandmother. And seeing my brother Jason never qualified as time well spent because he usually only came over when he knew Gran was cooking up his favorite meal. My handicap, as I'm apt to call it, pretty much keeps me from making casual friendships. I mean, do you really want to know exactly what everyone is thinking of you all of the time? It's easier to just not know someone, for me at least. I know that sounds terribly pessimistic, but I have spent my entire life learning how to shut out the unwanted mental noise of the world around me. You try doing it for a while then see if you want to go bowling.

Tara went on. "The closet I've come to going out on a date in the past three months was that dinner thing with my new landlord the other day."

"Oh yeah, how did that go?"

She shrugged dismissively. Just the fact that I hadn't heard about him already pretty much told me exactly how it went. Tara didn't mean to make every man she met under the age of forty a perspective suitor, but settling down and having a _normal _life was the only thing that kept her going some days. After living with alcoholic parents and struggling to make something of herself, the white picket fence was her ultimate end story.

"It was okay, I guess, but it was just business. He's meeting with all of his new tenants," she said. "He was sorta...I don't know...creepy."

"Creepy?"

"I don't know, there was just something about him. It was like he wasn't even interested."

I couldn't help but smile. "You mean he wasn't interested in you?"

"Yes!" Dramatic sigh. "But handsome as all get out. He's got a real deep drawl, you know? And some charm when he wanted to turn it on. You met him yet?"

"No, I tried twice knocking on his door but there was no answer." I replied. "We're neighbors though, so we'll see each other eventually. What's his first name?"

"It says William on his card, but he told me to call him Bill."

"Bill Compton." The name slowly rolled off my tongue; I had to admit that I was curious to meet him. Old Jessie Compton had been our neighbor my entire life and I'd probably spoken to him three times before he died a few months back. When we'd heard another Compton was tasking over the property, Gran had hope for a friendlier acquaintance. I wasn't holding my breath.

"So will you come?" she asked.

"I don't know, Tara," I sighed. "I mean, Dracula? It's not like they're doing The Sound of Music."

"I think it'll be neat. Especially if the guy playing Dracula is hot. Dracula is always hot in the movies, isn't he?"

"If you're into vampires, I guess." I tried to sound like I was paying attention, but I was completely preoccupied, which isn't like me. I'm usually a very good listener, but I found myself trying very hard not to turn around and stare. I didn't dare try to read him or the woman again, but I could feel their eyes drilling into the back of my head.

"You'll come with me? I'll buy dinner. We'll go to the Crawdad Diner for fried green tomatoes."

I couldn't help it for a second longer. I turned around just a tiny bit and edged my chin over my shoulder. Part of me wanted to simply walk right up to him and ask him what was on his mind, since I obviously didn't have a clue. One glance would have to suffice though, because I was trying very hard to keep the crazy in.

He had something in his hand - the same piece of pink paper Tara had in hers. He showed it to the woman, and I saw her lips say _Dracula? _and then roll her eyes. He gave a simple smile and shrugged at her. When had he gotten up? I hadn't even see him walk by.

"Sook?"

"Alright," I said, turning back to her. "I'll go."

Tara gave a little triumphant clap of her fingertips. "Yeay!"

"But I'm not auditioning. I'm just going for moral support."

"Oh, thanks, Sook. Come on, it'll be fun."

I smiled encouragingly at her, but my mind was far away. One more look over my shoulder revealed an empty table. I looked around the room but there was no trace of either of them except for the two untouched wine glasses on the table and small slip of pink paper.

_**A/N: I'm psyched to be posting again folks! Hope you like this one, it's an idea that has been rolling around my noggin for a while. The next chapter is already underway, yeay! As always, feed my habit and leave a review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and follows, I guess I'm on the right track! A lot of you were asking about what kind of roll Bill will play in this story, and without giving away too much, I'll tell you he's definitely in it. But sorry to any Bill fans out there, 'cause I am strictly a Team Eric type of gal. However, a lot of the things happening in the vampire world involving Sookie will still be happening, even without the Great Reveal. I love writing moments between Sookie and Gran, but don't worry, Eric is in the next chapter._

**Chapter Two**

The next day was Friday. I worked the lunch shift that day so I was able to be home for supper with Gran. This was something that Gran and I shared, and we had every week since I'd started working fulltime. She'd always make one of my favorites and set the kitchen table real nice. Sunday was usually the day that Jason joined us for supper, and sometimes Tara, but these weekday dinners were something special between Gran and I.

I've lived with my Gran since I was seven. Jason and I moved into the cozy old house on Hummingbird Lane after our parents were killed in a flash flood. Jason moved back into our childhood home when he was old enough to fend for himself, which suited Gran and I just fine. Jason is my brother and I love him dearly, but he's selfish as the day is long. Life in our house is simple and modest, and modesty is not a trait Jason inherited.

When I got home, Gran was in the kitchen cooking up a storm. The smells of baked chicken and pecan pie hung heavy in the air. I gave her a quick greeting as I ran up the stairs to change out of my stinky work clothes. (Constantly smelling like a beer-soaked french fry is a hazard of the trade.) I slipped into some khaki capris and a Supergirl tee-shirt, then hopped down the stairs to help with dinner.

Leaning in to give her a quick kiss in the cheek, I saw that the kitchen table was covered with freshly baked pies. "Whoa, is there a bake sale I don't know about?"

"No dear," she said as she took another pie out of the oven and set it down on the counter. "Maxine brought over half a bushel from her tree this morning, so I thought no time like the present."

"I'll say. What are you gonna do with 'em all?"

"Share the wealth, I suppose. Sam likes my pies, as I recall."

"Sam likes anything you cook, Gran." I settled into a chair since I could tell we wouldn't be eating for a while. I chose a pie as my own by picking a pecan off the top and popping into my mouth. Gran gave my hand a gentle smack, but I did it again as soon as her back turned.

"And of course there's Maxine and Hoyt, and Jason, and the ladies at the club. Oh, and I thought you could take one over to Mr. Compton."

My eyebrows went up questioningly. "You met him?"

"He came by and introduced himself last night right after you left."

"He came calling that late?" I exclaimed.

"Said he saw a cougar on the edge of his property," she replied. "He wanted to warn us."

"Hmm. We haven't a cougar around here in years."

"Thirteen I told him."

"Well, did he come in?"

"Of course not," she said quickly. "That wouldn't be proper."

"Tara said he's creepy."

Gran put on her sour old lady face in an instant. "He was a perfect gentleman. Now bring one over there before they get cold."

"But it's almost dark out," I whined. "I've been over there twice already."

"Sookie, he's our neighbor and you are a Stackhouse. You, above all, should know the dangers of judging a book by its cover." This was a declaration, not the beginning of an argument. That's how it was with Gran. I knew better than to fight with her when she was being crabby.

"Okay, okay." I put my hands up in mock surrender, then got up to dig the pie caddy out of the cupboard over the sink.

It was only a ten minute walk over to the Compton place; Sweet Home Cemetery lay in between our properties. It didn't bother me one bit to walk through there, even at night, because I could hear someone coming a mile away. But just to be safe, I put my shields all the way down and decided to make a nice stroll of it. The pie might settle funny if I went too quickly anyway.

Sweet Home Cemetery was the oldest cemetery in Renard Parish. My family's plot was there, resting alongside Civil War heroes and the town founders. It was always interested me to walk amongst the graves, reading the old and new stones, even after my parents were laid to rest there. Maybe it was because my Gran had loved me so strongly, or maybe it was because I was so young when they died, but I've always had a pretty down to earth attitude about the whole thing. I could've turned out a lot worse, I suppose.

I walked through a patch of Magnolia trees and rounded a corner into one of the oldest sections of the cemetery, when the figure of a man seemed to come out of nowhere right in front of me. Just popped out from behind a big tombstone. Startled, I yelped and let go of the pie, but the man caught it before it even hit the ground, not a nut out of place.

"Shut the door!" I gasped, leaping back a step. "You scared me!"

His words tumbled over my own. "My apologies, miss,"

I looked at him warily. "You caught my pie."

"It's the least I could do." He gently handed the caddy back to me, adding, "Forgive my carelessness."

"No, no, it's just...I don't usually scare so easily. You just came outta nowhere."

Why hadn't I heard him? Even with my shields down and my feelers out...But then, once my heart slowed down and I concentrated, I saw it - a black space inside his head, no thoughts to be read. I probed him again and he raised a curious eyebrow at me, like he felt it. There was a moment of silence between us, when it seemed that both of us knew exactly what had just happened, but I gave in to my nerves and looked away with a crazy smile plastered onto my face.

Now I ask, what were the chances of coincidentally encountering three people in two days that I couldn't read, when it hadn't happened once in my entire life? Right...

He was tall, but not overly, and dressed in a pair of khakis and a denim colored Henley. He was good looking, but in a stiff gentlemanly sort of way. His hair was dark and looked freshly washed, like he'd just hoped out of the shower. He had on a pair of loafers, and I'm pretty sure if was the first pair of brown leather loafers to ever set foot in Bon Temps.

It was then that I noticed a fresh bouquet of white roses at the base of a stone a few plots away. Even in the growing darkness, I could make out the name Caroline Compton. "Oh, you're Mr. Compton, aren't you?"

"Yes , ma'am."

"Well then, this belongs to you." I awkwardly handed the pie back to him, adding, "Compliments of Adele Stackhouse."

He smiled kindly and graciously received the pie. "That makes you her granddaughter."

"That's me, Sookie Stackhouse."

"It's an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Stackhouse. And please pass along my gratitude to Miss Adele."

"I surely will." Another moment of silence. This is the time when I'd usually take a peek into someone's head, to see what they were really thinking, but apparently, that was a trick I wouldn't be using as often anymore. I felt my nerves kick into high gear. This is the time when I usually start babbling like a fool. "Is this your family?" I asked. Duh, see last name.

"Uh, yes it is. Distant, of course."

"There you are," I said stupidly, looking one over from Caroline and seeing the name William.

"What ?" His face crumpled.

"William Compton." I walked behind him and stepped in front of the grave. "Are there a lot of Williams in your family?"

"Just the two," he replied rather tersely. "You can call me Bill if you like."

"Alright. Tara told me about you."

"She holds you in the highest regard. I was actually hoping to meet you when I stopped by last night."

"Well, I did knock on your door a few times, you know, to welcome you to the neighborhood, but..." My house and his house were, in fact, the only two houses in the neighborhood.

"I work rather strange hours, I'm afraid," he said in an apologetic tone. "At times I am only reachable at night."

"It was a shame about Jesse Compton," I said after another slow pause. In fact, it was not a shame at all. Old Jesse Compton was as mean and crotchety as they got. He'd really let the property go to pot after he got too sick and too old to care. "Did you know him well?"

"Regrettably, I did not. I was only informed of his death through my attorney."

"The house is..."

"A work in progress," he supplied gracefully.

"Right." I couldn't help the smile on my face, this time a real one.

We both slowly ambled toward the newest addition to the Compton plot. Jesse did not have a lovingly carved headstone like all the others, just a small plaque freshly installed in the growing grass, the kind people get when they don't have a lot of money or there's no one to claim them.

"Well, the Comptons are in good company, I'm afraid. My grandfather and both my parents are right over there," I indicated with my chin toward the other side of the path, to a newer, not so fancy part of the cemetery.

He lowered his head a bit. "My regrets."

I sighed, casually waving away his sadness. "Oh, it was a long time ago, but thanks anyway." I couldn't even begin to explain why I'd brought that up. Maybe because there wasn't much else to say and I always ended up sticking my foot in my mouth when I got anxious. I took a few steps back onto the gravel path back in the direction I'd come from. "Well, I guess I should be getting back. Gran will be expecting me for dinner."

"May I accompany you?" His voice was suddenly full of charisma, and I could understand what Tara had said about him. Boy, could he turn on the southern charm.

I usually rolled my eyes when a man tried to lay it on thick with me, because I always knew that it was just a means to my end. But with his guy, I didn't know what he was thinking and something about that intrigued me a bit. Even if he was thinking the same old things that any guy would think, I didn't know it, and the magic bubble that usually popped right about then didn't pop at all.

"A fair woman such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night." When he smiled, the sides of his eyes crinkled. A light breeze blew by and tossed a bit of his thick brown hair down into his eyes.

I blushed, damn it. This guy was good. What can I say? I'm not used to be charmed like that. In fact, what I'm used to is a guy staring at my boobs and telling me I have purdy eyes. So when Bill reached out a crooked arm to me, I took it without hesitation.

As we strolled along on the path, he told me about his job as a software engineer and how it took him all over the world to meet new clients. He also told me all about his plans for the house, which were big, and that sort of surprised me, because that meant he'd be sticking around for a while. The roof needed to be replaced, along with all of the electrical stuff. He was also going to redo all of the interior paint and wallpaper. As he gave me a detailed plan of attack on the unruly azalea bushes, my thoughts wandered. Before long, I was picturing him in nothing but a pair of dirty jeans and a layer of sweat.

"Miss Stackhouse?"

"Hmm?" I looked up and realized that we were standing in my backyard. "Oh, well, this is my stop. Thanks for walking me home."

"It was my pleasure. And again, please thank your charming grandmother for me. I haven't smelled a pie like this in many moons."

I let a dry chuckle slip out. "Oh, that's Gran for ya. She's a charmer." Yeah, that old charmer had nearly bitten my head off not half an hour ago.

Of course, she'd been right about him. The word gentleman seemed to b a perfect fit, yet somehow, there seemed to be something very unsettling about just being next to him. I was obviously attracted to him, but why? He was handsome and gracious, but there was something else...

He leaned in very close to me, like he was about to tell me a secret. "You're staring at me," he whispered, a sneaky smile on his face.

I felt my cheeks flush and I shamefully dropped my head. "I'm so sorry."

"Not at all. You just look like something is on your mind."

"Well, Mr. Compton -"

"Bill."

I gave a quick nod. "Bill. Well, I hate to be rude, considering we just met and all, but...are you ill?" He was beyond pale. His skin seemed to glow, like he had a strange shininess to him. It seemed like I was looking at him through misty glasses. At first I tried to blink it away, but there it was, plain as the stately nose on his face.

"I'm what is called photosensitive," he explained. "That means that my eyes and skin are very sensitive to sunlight, so I spend most of my time indoors during the day."

"Oh." My voice dropped into a tone of shame. Gran would've smacked me with a wooden spoon. "I'm sorry I asked."

He smiled kindly at me, and I was immediately grateful to him. "Don't be, we all have our burdens to bare."

"Tell me about it," I grumbled, tapping at a clump of hardened grass and dirt. When he didn't say anything, I looked up and saw a raised eyebrow on his face. Maybe he was just as curious about me as I was about him. "It's just that I'm usually pretty good at getting a fix on people when I first meet them, but for the life of me, I can't get a fix on you."

How could I possibly describe this to him without letting on that I was a telepathic freak show? Sooner or later, someone in town would tell him all about crazy Sookie and my cover would be blown. But what the hell. Like Gran always says, hope springs eternal.

He gave me another smile, all slow and deliberate like, showing off his perfectly white teeth. "Perhaps that's a good thing."

I smiled back. I couldn't help it. "Perhaps."

"Goodnight, Miss Stackhouse."

"Goodnight, Mr. Compton."

He watched as I walked across the yard and safely reach my backdoor. As I opened the screen door, I turned around and gave him a quick wave, then he jaunted off into the trees.

Gran had just finished setting the table. "That was quick," she said, laying down a chicken breast onto my plate.

"He was in the cemetery," I replied, quickly washing my hands, then grabbing the sweet peas from the stovetop. "He walked me back."

"Oh?"

The tone of her voice, implying she hadn't been watching at all, made me roll my eyes. Gran was crafty all right. She'd been secretly trying to set me up with every God fearing boy in the parish since I was eighteen, though she'd deny that to the grave. And not because she thought that I needed a man or that I had to get married, but because she simply wanted me to be happy.

"I'll have to thank Mrs. Fortenberry for the nuts next time she comes into Merlotte's. Every Tuesday after bridge club," I said, looking at Gran from the corner of my eye.

"That's fine, dear." She didn't even glance up at me as she spooned out rice onto both out plates. She knew I'd do no such thing. Maxine Fortenberry was as about as horrible as they came, and Gran knew the only reason I tolerated her was because they were friends from way back.

We sat down, said grace, then began to eat in companionable silence. The chicken was roasted to perfection, as usual. I was already looking forward to the chicken salad the next day. Rice was rice. The sweet peas were a little stringy, but only because they'd been left on the vine too long, no fault of the cook's.

"So, what'd you think of him?"

I tried not to smile. "Who?"

"Mr. Compton."

"Oh, Mr. Compton. He was very nice, Gran, just like you said. It'll be good to have a friendly neighbor."

She smiled and gave a little nod. Gran was the only parent I'd had since I was a girl, so it sort of buttered my biscuit every time she was proven right. But she was still my Gran, and I'd seek her approval for the rest of life. Knowing her the way I did though, and knowing that she would ride me in her classic passive-aggressive grandma way whenever she felt the need, I didn't feel bad about messin' with her, from time to time.

"He is a little odd though, I think." I paid very close attention to cutting my chicken. "He says things like regrettably and perhaps. Who talks like that?"

She paused for a moment, took in a long breath, then continued deboning her thigh. "_Perhaps _he is fond of the manners of a by-gone era. Wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to this town."

Or to me.

"Maybe. Anyway, I couldn't tell. I think my brain is on the fritz."

"What do you mean, dear?"

"I mean, I couldn't get anything from him with my...ability." Gran was the only one I openly talked to about being telepathic. There were a few close friends, like Tara and Sam, who sort of knew but mostly tried to ignore it. Gran was the only one that never judged me or thought I was weird. "And it happened with two other people in the bar the other night too. There were just these empty black spaces were their thoughts shoulda been. It was like that with Bill."

Gran regarded me for a moment, and I thought I was in for another lecture, but then her face softened and she reached out for my hand. "My dear, you have been given a great gift. It should be treated as such."

I sighed and hung my head, but she wasn't done. "If God gave you a gift every day, would that last gift seem as special as the first?"

"No, Gran."

"These things that come so easy to you mustn't be taken for granted, Sookie."

"But everything else is so hard for me."

She smiled at me in a way that only a grandmother could do, and my soul felt a little lighter for it. "We all have our crosses to bare, dear."

"That's what Bill said."

"Then Bill was right." She gave my hand another light squeeze, then back to cutting her dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Sooo many good questions asked in last chapter's reviews. The overall consensus in that Bill is a dink, and I couldn't agree more, but I guess I'm a romantic and I can't help but give in to Bill's lingering emotions. Now, onto big and better, Count Eric. I do have to point out that I am using some dialogue from various Dracula plays. I couldn't find one version that really does it justice, not in my opinion at least, so I patched together a version I like and wrote some of the scenes myself. Please do not arrest me for plagiarism, and please do not haunt me, Bram Stoker. Writing a play based on a book is really just another form of fan fiction. That's right, "Wicked" - I said it.**_

**Chapter Three**

The next week went by pretty uneventfully. It lingered because I was preoccupied and walking around with my head in the clouds. My tips were terrible, none of my errands got done, and my cat Tina practically fed herself.

What was filling up my brain? Well, a few things, which in itself was confusing, because life doesn't usually throw too much at you all at once in Bon Temps. Mostly I was thinking about the new neighbor, Bill. It wasn't that I was crushing on him, much to my Gran's chagrin, though he was handsome and charming enough. There was just something about him that kept me looking out my bedroom window toward his house. I wondered if I wouldn't be able to read his thoughts again, or if it had just been a fluke.

I can't explain it, but the more I thought about it, the more curious I got. Imagine going out with someone and not being in their head. That's as close to paradise as I'd ever know. I started walking over there twice, but stopped myself just before the entrance to the cemetery. It bothered me that I felt like I wouldn't be able to trust him. Maybe Gran was right, maybe I was taking my ability for granted, but it wasn't just the missing thoughts that were bothering me. There was something else about him that I couldn't figure, something that made me nervous and excited at the same time whenever I thought about him.

There's something else about me you should know - I very rarely let resting dogs lie. Some would call that a fault, I call it practical problem solving.

Through it all - working shifts, walking circles in my yard, helping Gran with the chores - another face kept creeping into my thoughts. The tall man from the bar in Shreveport, my other missing brain. (I refused to add his date to that list, although I was bound and determined to find out a thing about her as well.) Why did I keep thinking about him? I hadn't even heard his voice, I barely made eye contact with him. Why, after watching him for less than ten minutes in a crowded room, was I willing to so completely leave my comfort zone and go to that audition?

I hated myself just a little for the answer of that question, trust me. I do not chase men, or boys, or anyone for that matter. Don't get me wrong, I could get them if I wanted to. But after hearing the sick and twisted thoughts of so many men, after having crushes destroyed and dates ruined by one errant thought, I didn't want to be caught by any of them.

That being said, I couldn't stop thinking about him. There I was, standing in front of my closet, debating the right outfit and getting nervous at the mere thought of seeing him again. I settled on a black pencil skirt and a baby blue cap sleeved cashmere sweater with a pair of black kitten heels. I had no idea how to dress for an audition, but I figured it must be sort of like an interview. If I was interviewing to be a secretary for an incredibly sexy and ginormous quiet type. Right.

I changed the skirt and heels for jeans and ballet flats, but I kept my hair down and put on more make-up than I'd wear on a normal day. For the eightieth time in an hour, I looked in the mirror and was satisfied.

It was a quiet ride to Shreveport. Tara and I were both wrapped up in our own thoughts. I didn't need to listen in to know she was just as nervous I as was. When our favorite Keith Urban song came on the radio, neither one of us turned it up or started singing about where the blacktop ends.

An hour and a half later, I was sitting in a folding chair, my feet tapping the floor and my hands tapping my lap. There were about twenty of us, all sitting in rows against the outer walls of the Shreveport Community Playhouse. There were other bigger, grander theaters in town, but the Shreveport Players were the one of the only groups in town that had regular open auditions. (I'd learned a lot about stage acting from Tara over the past few days. I suspected she'd learned it all from the Internet.) Other places, like the Strand, were all professional actors.

Looking around the room, I could plainly see we were not professionals. It was a ragtag group - a teenage girl with black nail polish and excessive cleavage, all the way down the line to an older lady that looked like a librarian. There was even a guy wearing a John Deere cap, although I wasn't all together convinced he was in the right place. Tara and I fell somewhere in the middle, I guess, but I was certainly glad that I'd changed.

A hundred thoughts flew through my head at once, along with the words of the script I was trying to read. My shields were clamped shut and good, so add that into the mix too. I have no experience in theater, not cheerleading or color guard. I'm not even a good liar. And would I be able to stand in the middle of a roomful of people, whose only intent was to critique my performance, and be able to concentrate on my lines, as well as holding up my mental armor?

But maybe my job wasn't very much different from acting. Every day I have to block out tons of unwanted thoughts and comments, sometimes a hundred at a time, and memorizing the daily specials couldn't very different from reciting lines from a script. I was acting when I pretended not to hear all of the crazy and disgusting thoughts running through the customer's heads day in and day out. You try keeping a straight face in front of your middle school gym teacher while he thinks about how much he likes your booty shorts and wonders if they come in his size, all the while remembering to bring him extra ranch for his fries. If that isn't acting, I don't know what is.

The auditorium door swung open and a tall, pencil-thin woman stepped into the foyer. Her glasses slipped down her nose as she read from the clipboard rested against her hip. "Tara Thornton?"

Tara looked up from her script with a gasp. "Oh, crap."

"What is it?"

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," she softly groaned, her face blanching.

"Oh, it's just nerves," I soothed, giving her thigh a little pat. "Everyone in the room probably feels like that right now." Then she looked up and I could see the complete fear in her eyes. Tara had worked so hard over the years to build up her self-esteem, but doubting herself was an old and constant behavior. "We don't have to do this," I said in a lower voice. "There's no shame in excusing ourselves."

"Tara Thornton?" the woman called again.

Tara shook her head and stood up. "No, I can do this. I can do it just fine." She literally held her head higher, gave me a quick wink, then skipped over the tiles and through the stage door.

That meant I was probably next.

I'd spent the better part of the past week trying to convince myself that I wasn't only doing this to get a chance at seeing Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Vacant again. But like I said, I'm a terrible liar, especially when I tried to lie to myself. So, even as I assured myself it was only for curiosity's sake, I went to the library and took out a copy of Dracula. I couldn't get past the second chapter, with all of its flowery words and weird journal entries, so I went back and took out the Dracula movie with Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder. I saw it a long time ago, but this time I really paid attention and tried to imagine what it would be like to portray any one of the female characters.

After deciding that I was officially losing my mind, I read a copy of the script Tara had acquired and realized I was in way over my head. Yeah, it took me that long. Star material, I was not. Neither was Tara for that matter, but that wasn't stopping her from auditioning for one of the leads. My goals weren't nearly that lofty and I settled on reading for the part of the maid.

Honestly, aside from giving a heaping amount of moral support to my friend, my only goal that night was to see him again. Give his head another chance. But seeing as we'd been there for almost two hours and there hadn't been any sign that my mystery man was putting in an appearance, I was starting to feel pretty darn stupid.

Ten minutes later, Tara came back out. I expected to see a big smile of triumph, or even some tears, but her face was blank. She slid back into her chair and seemed to stare off at nothing.

"Are you alright?" I asked. When she didn't respond, I reached out and gently touched her shoulder. "Tara honey?"

She blinked and quickly pulled back from my touch. "What?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Only then did she look around, like she didn't even know where she was or something.

"Okay...well, how was it?"

After blinking and inhaling a few times, she finally looked at me. "What?"

"I asked how it went."

"Oh, fine I guess. I read for the maid part."

"But you wanted Lucy."

"They made me."

"Oh." Well, this could be problematic.

"You're next," she said.

"Tara, I don't wanna audition for the same part as you. This was your idea."

"But they asked about you."

My brow creased. "Who?"

"The director, and some other people. You're the only friend I have here."

"How many people are in there?" I asked.

"Just a couple."

Suddenly, I was off being worried about Tara and I went back to worrying about myself. "Now I feel like I'm gonna throw up," I grumbled.

The smile returned to her face then, and she gave my hand a little squeeze. "It's alright, sweetie. You just march in there and show 'em who you are, then we'll get that bite to eat I promised you. I think I got low blood sugar or somethin'."

"Sookie Stackhouse." The thin woman called for me from the doorway and my insides lurched.

Tara gave me a quick wink and an encouraging nod, then with a quick prayer, I was off.

The woman held her hand out and I gave her my audition sheet. Name, age, experience. My sheet was blank. She eyed it quickly, then gave me a reproachful glare as she shoved it under her clipboard. I plastered on my biggest, best crazy-Sookie smile and followed her into the auditorium. It was very dark, aside from the lights on the stage and a few dim lights on the walls, and I crashed into her as she turned around to face me.

"Go up on the stage," she hissed. I ignored the fact that she blatantly rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh as she stomped down the aisle and slumped into a seat in the front row. _Fucking newbs, why do they waste my time with these fucking girls-_

I clamped down my shields again as I slowly made my way up the small set of stairs to the stage, my shoes scuffing and sounding extremely loud. I could hear my heart pounding inside my ears as I peered out into the white light shining down into my eyes. Beyond that light, there was darkness, only vague shapes and outlines.

"Hello, Miss Stackhouse," a male voice rang out from the dark. It sounded young, but was loud and very assertive.

"Hello," I managed to reply as I heard the sound of papers shuffling. The outline of a few heads was just visible a few rows back from the front.

"This is your first audition?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Can you read off book?"

"...Sir?"

I heard a sigh. "Did you memorize the lines?"

"Oh...no, sir." My face burned with embarrassment. "Was I supposed to?"

"It helps. Can you do an English accent?"

"No."

Another sigh. "Well, what can you do?"

That's the point when my determination set in, and it was a whole lot easier to put my fear aside. I glared out at the source of the impatient voice. "I can remember the orders of four twelve tops and chew bubble gum at the same time. I think I can give this a swing."

I heard a few chuckles. "Well, alright then, show us what ya got," he said. "Page thirty, second line down."

I did as I was told and found the page, but I hadn't read a single word of this part of the script. It wasn't even the same character. "This is Mina's line, sir."

"That's right."

"But I was auditioning for the part of Catherine the maid."

"You wanna do this or not?" he asked impatiently, then he added in a whisper that wasn't really a whisper at all, "Are you sure this is the one?"

"I'm sure," another voice replied.

A cool shiver went down my spine as that voice sailed into my ears. I squinted and tried to see its source, but all I could make out were two masculine-shaped shadows, one much larger than the other. "She'd begun sleepwalking," I yelped out.

There was a quick hesitation, then the new voice called out, "Sleepwalking? Mina, why didn't you tell me?"

"She begged me not to," I read, gripping the script tighter with my sweaty fingers. "You had enough o worry about. Oh, I'm sorry, I know I should've said something, but everything happened so fast and once she was gone, there didn't seem any point in mentioning it."

"So you'd wake in the middle of the night and she'd be gone?"

"Yes."

"And then?"

I felt a strange courage begin to flow through my veins. I wasn't that hard, just like reading out loud the way the volunteers did at story hour in the children's library.

"Well, naturally I went looking for her. I usually found her out on the grounds somewhere. Each time I'd wake her gently and take her to bed. But once...once I caught sight of her heading up the path to the cemetery. When I got there, she was sitting on the old stone bench outside her family crypt." I followed the directions in parenthesis and tried to act like I was getting all choked up. I remembered this scene in the movie I'd just watched and I tried to make a face like Winona Ryder's. "And well, I was at some distance and there was a good deal of fog, but there appeared to be a figure hunched over her."

"Some piece of statuary you mean?"

"No," I replied, hastily flipping the page. "No, it was animated. Dressed in black, tall and thin. But the face...it was the face of some wild beast. And the eyes!"

"What did you see, miss?"

"They were red, red like coals glowing in the dark. I called out to her and that thing, whatever it was, it just vanished into the dark. I ran to her and brought her back to the house again, and the next morning she was worse than ever. Two days later she was gone."

I let out a long breath after I finished those words and realized my heart was racing. I'd inched up to the edge of the stage and hadn't even realized I was moving. Letting my fingers unclench from their death grip around the moist pages, I took a few step back and tried to relax myself without letting my shields go down.

There was some more paper shuffling, then the new voice called out, "Page thirty-five, nine lines down."

As I flipped to the requested page and scanned the lines, I heard light footstep on the stairs on the opposite side of the stage. I saw a lean, tall figure glide into the light, and suddenly, the man from Olive's was close enough to me that I had to look up to see into his piercing blue eyes. They were lovely and bright like aquamarines, and I couldn't help but stare into them. Did he remember me at all?

Everything about him was bigger than life - his hands with their long, sculpted fingers; his shoulders, which were double the width of my whole body, yet tapered down into a trim waistline. If it was possible, he seemed even taller than he looked standing next to me at that bar a week before, but his scent of cologne and smoky sky was the same. He was dressed in black trousers and a black button-down shirt that fit snuggly across his chest and opened up at his neck to reveal smooth, colorless skin. I stared up at him, unblinking with my mouth hanging open. Gran would've told me to shut it before I caught a fly, but I was momentarily speechless.

"It's good to see you up and about, Miss Mina." His voice slowed and became thick with a heavy European accent. The kind you always hear in vampire movies, only coming out of his mouth, it sounded natural and elegant. "Has there been any improvement?"

I tried to speak, but my voice cracked and I had to clear my throat. "I'm sure there will be now that the professor had joined the fray," I read.

"Ah, I see. This is no mere social visit. You come with a man of medicine, a man of science. A formable adversary to any malady. What an exhilarating turn of events."

"Yes, but the best remedy would be Jonathon's safe return. Any news, Count?"

"Alas, still no word. I have a legion of gypsies searching, but the forests are dense and the cliffs are perilous, so it is slow going. If this continues much longer, I shall return to Castle Dracula and lead the hunt myself."

"You are so kind, Count."

He took another step close to me and I had to concentrate real hard not to move away. He held a script in his hand, but never looked at it once. "I think you know, my sweet lady, that from the moment we met, I have been your devotee. I see in you a kindred spirit."

"Your visits have meant so much to me."

"He does not bore you? This wearisome old remnant of a dark by-gone era?"

"Listen to you," I replied with a smile, trying to remember the words sentence by sentence so I could look up from the script. "Talking like an antique again. No, I quite love your old folk tales. They're really rather enchanting. And those peculiar songs you sing. So many eerily beautiful folksongs in your land."

"There is one, Ghost Lover, do you know it?" I shook my head and he went on, "They sing it in those inns down by the wharves. A young woman stands on the beach, mourning her lover who was lost at sea. So strong is her love that his ghost ship rises up from the waves and they embrace in the moonlight. When he tells her he must go, she will not be left behind. She takes him by the hand, and together, they descend into the cold, dark water."

I was rapt, looking up into his glittering eyes. It took me a long moment to realize that he's taken my free hand and was gently holding it between us, my hand looking like a child's in his enormous grasp. If I backed away or let go, I knew the spell would be broken between us. I was also instantly reminded that sometimes all it took was a touch for me to hone in on someone's inner thoughts, even for those most difficult to read. I opened my mind and the brain waves of the people around us got turned up like a radio station coming in clear. But from him, there was nothing, just a silent gap in the barrage of information coming from the darkness of the auditorium and the foyer beyond.

It was bliss.

I let the silence melt over us, blocking out everything else around me, and I smiled. I even let out a tiny whisper of a giggle. He didn't skip a beat, but I could tell just from the way that he stared down at me that he knew what I'd just done. He felt it, somehow. And when he smiled back, small and slow, there was a small part of me that thought he knew exactly what I was.

"Holy shit! House lights!"

In an instant, the blackness in the auditorium was replaced with a nice low glow and the stage lights came down a bit. I pulled my hand out of his and leapt back like we'd just been caught making out. A small man hopped out of his seat and jaunted up onto the stage. He was in his early thirties maybe, with a baseball hat and wire rimmed glasses. His Green Lantern shirt and his size made it a little hard to distinguish him as an adult.

He reached out and briskly shook my hand. "Dylan Labeaux, I'm the director."

"Nice to meet you." My eyes were still glued to the other man, even as Dylan pumped my hand up and down like I was a slot machine.

"That was incredible, I mean, just incredible," Dylan gushed. He looked to the man at his right and added, "And you were right."

Then taller man shrugged, tipping his head a bit. "I was right."

"And you've never acted before, nothing at all?" Dylan asked.

"No, sir."

"Do you want to?"

"Excuse me?"

He was falling over himself, practically busting at the seams. This didn't really fit the image of the cool as a cucumber director that you always saw on TV. You know, the guy that always sat behind a little table light in the dark and said _don't call us, we'll call you_. "Mina, say you'll be my Mina."

"But...I was gonna be a maid," I sputtered. Mina was the biggest part in the whole play. Friggin Winona Ryder - he had to joking.

"Listen," he said, leading me away a bit and putting his arm around my shoulder, which was hard for him because we were the same height. "Between me and you, we've sat through a lot of shitty auditions the past few days. This was the first real moment I've seen. You two have a spark - I can't just let you go. God knows what I've got left out there."

I turned us both in the other direction and looked back to the man, who was simply standing there with a mild look on his face. Something in my stomach told me there was nothing mild about him. "But who are you exactly?"

"Eric Northman." I took his hand when he extended it and noticed how cold he was, now that I'd dried off a little. It was like he'd just stepped out of the freezer. And his skin was pale, almost too pale, even under the shine of the stage lights. He wouldn't have stage make-up on already, would he?

No way around it though, he was beautiful. I had to blink away images of me climbing him like a jungle gym.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stackhouse," he said, bending a few degrees at the waist, then he looked up through his lashes and added, "Officially."

"Eric is our resident vampire," Dylan said with a proud smile, patting Eric on the shoulder like they were fraternity brothers. "Say hi to the Count."

"Nice to meet you, Count."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Floored by the response to this story, thanks so much, guys! Making up my own version of the Sookieverse is extra special to me right now because of the true sadness I feel having finished the last book. I feel like I did when I finished the Harry Potter series - satisfied, but slightly dead inside. Good thing we only have a few weeks left until True Blood! Some of you were concerned about Tara getting sucked on, and I can safely say without giving anything away that she was only glamoured. A few of you also wanted to know who my version is based on, and I totally picture the cast of the show in my head when I write. With the exception of Sookie, I think they did an awesome job casting all of the characters. Alexander Skarsgard - um, yes please! Sookie is just someone I've seen in my head since I read the first book, and it's definitely not Anna Paquin. She does a good job, but she's not Sookie to me. Anyhoo, off to Merlotte's...**_

**Chapter Four**

Three days went by and I'd managed to deflect five phone calls from Dylan the director, and a few from a very put-out stage director named Jeanette, who I assumed was the grumpy clipboard lady. Gran was screening my calls, only she didn't really know it.

I honestly don't know what I'd been thinking auditioning like that, and the more I thought about it, the more foolish I felt. I don't usually let my emotions get the better of me, and I'm not prone to outbursts unless I'm hopping mad. Going to that audition as moral support for Tara was completely secondary to my own desires, and I was feeling a bit ashamed of that, especially after I told her that I had been offered the leading part.

Tara was still mad, and I didn't blame her one bit, although she tried her best to not let her jealousy show. They asked her to be one of Dracula's wives, which was a very small part, but she'd get to wear some very neat stage make-up and act all sexy and forbidden. She was also going to be helping with the costumes, and when she was done being mad at me, I knew she was going to be very excited about that.

Tuesday was always a very busy lunch day at Merlotte's. By the time four o'clock snuck up on me and the rush died down, I'd barely stopped moving long enough to eat a sandwich and slurp down an iced tea. My feet were cursing the extra shift I was covering for my co-worker Dawn, who'd had some sort of personal emergency. Again. Working a double was never fun, especially on a Tuesday, but I could always use the money. I also hated to see Sam in the lurch, so I was at the top of the call-in-case-of-a-sort-of-emergency list.

I was replenishing the bussing station, when fellow employee Arlene snuck up behind me. She was a good fifteen years older than me and had two kids and three husbands to show for it, but I was often surprised at how well we got along. I babysit for her a lot and had nursed her through the past five bad relationships, while she sort of treated me like another kid and tried setting me up with anyone she wasn't interested in herself. She was a little thing, with a big head of bottle-red hair and a smile for every available man that walked through the door.

"Sookie," she hissed. "Look at that guy just sat down in your section!"

I peeked over the partition just enough to see Eric Northman lounging at one of my tables, taking in the place with a rather amused look on his face. My heart thumped, even as I grumbled, "Oh, great."

"You know him?" she exclaimed, craning over my shoulder to get a better look.

"Sort of."

"Well, I'll take the table for you, if you want."

I smiled sideways. That's Arlene for you, always looking out for ex-husband number four. "No, it's okay, Arlene, I got it."

She gave me a little humpf noise as she went about her business, but was still eyeing me as I smoothed my apron and straightened my pony tail. I smelled like a beer-soaked french fry, but there wasn't much I could do about that. The moment I took a step in his direction, I knew Arlene wasn't the only one watching us. A new face in Merlotte's never went unnoticed, especially one like Eric Northman's.

The only one not staring was Andy Bellefleur. He always did a pretty good job of not caring about the presence of those around him, despite the fact that he was a cop. He was waving me down for the third time, probably because he saw his catfish fritters getting cold in the window. I acknowledged him with a polite nod and a _one minute _gesture.

As I walked toward his table, Eric looked up at me. In fact, he downright stared. Not in a look-you-up-and-down-and-imagine-you-naked kind of way, which was the way I was used to being looked at in Merlotte's, but in a way that made me want to hold my shoulders a bit higher and wish I had some lip gloss on.

"Miss Stackhouse." His smile was slow, cool.

I bobbed my head and tried not to smile like a lunatic. "Mr. Northman. What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"You," he replied. "Apparently, you're a hard woman to get a hold of."

Most of the time, I ended up looking down at my customers because the chairs were a tad on the small side, but he was so tall that our eyes were nearly level. "How'd you know where I work?" I asked.

He leaned a little loser, like he was about to tell me a secret, and I instinctively did the same. "You may be surprised to learn this, but you are the only Sookie Stackhouse in the whole state of Louisiana."

I tried to disguise a smile but failed. "Well, you found me. And I know why you're here."

"For a drink."

"A drink?" He looked over my shoulder with a nod and eyed the bar. "Okay, what'll you have?"

"What kind of wine do you serve?"

"Nothing fancy," I shrugged. Merlotte's customers weren't big wine drinkers, but when they were, it was only requested in the form of white or red. "I think we just got a case of cabernet."

"That'll do."

"Anything to eat?"

He gave me a smug smile, like he was telling a joke I didn't get. "No, I ate earlier."

"Well, okay. I'll be over in a jiff with your wine."

Just as I turned away from him, he added, "And we'll talk." Andy started waving his arms like he was landing a plane as I considered Eric's request. Well, he hadn't really asked. He gave Andy a quick glance without even moving his head, and the flapping immediately stopped. "You're busy."

I shrugged. "Always am."

Then he did something nearly impossible for me to resist. He settled back into the old vinyl pads of his chair and tented his hands over the table. "I'll wait. And then, we'll talk."

I chewed on my pen for a few seconds, like I was actually only considering it. "Yeah, we'll talk."

I flipped on my heel, only to find Andy staring me down again. He'd actually gotten out of his seat this time, though I noticed he was careful to avoid Eric's gaze. "Damn it, Sookie, I'm on duty here," he growled.

"Alright, hold your water, Andy. They're not gonna swim upstream without you, gosh," I said out the side of my mouth, hoping Andy heard every word.

I was rarely sassy with the customers. However, Andy Bellefleur deserved it every once in a while, and Sam knew it. He was as grumpy as a grandfather croc, but he had a badge and a prestigious name to hide behind. Andy was one of the two detectives that lived in town and he suffered from an inflated case of self-importance. I suppose that for anyone else, being a law enforcement officer earned you a bit of respect, but Andy walked around acting like he deserved it, so he didn't get much from the people from Bon Temps except dirty looks.

I shimmied up to the kitchen window and started loading up a tray with all of my orders that were up. "Can you get Andy some extra roulade sauce, Lafayette?" I asked the cook. "He's buzzing like a hornet's nest out there."

Lafayette rolled his eyes and spooned some special sauce into a tiny plastic cup. The only thing special about it was the Tabasco sauce mixed into the Thousand Island dressing. "Sookie," he asked, slipping the sauce into Andy's basket, but not before he stuck his thumb in it and gave it a lick. "Who is that fine piece of man meat you talkin' to out there?"

"Trouble, if you ask me," I mumbled.

He made a tisking noise as he went back to flipping burgers. "Don't have to tell me twice. That's the kind of trouble I could get behind."

Lafayette was not only black and outspoken, but he was the only openly gay man in Bon Temps. These three things don't mix well in the south. He was one hell of a fry cook, and generally a very sweet person, yet not very of my fellow residents bothered to look past all of the nail polish and hip huggers to see that. If it troubled him in the least, he never let on to it. I knew he had a somewhat shady past, but he came to work on time and made the best chili I'd ever tasted, so the issue was settled for me.

"What's he eatin', 'cept for me in my dreams tonight?" he asked.

I was used to his more colorful moments, but it still made me shake my head when he made that sort of comment. "Nothing, he's just having some wine."

"Well, you tell him to come find Lala if he changes his mind," he said with a wink of his delicatley lined and shadowed eye.

Something made me doubt that Eric Northman played anywhere near the other team, but I smiled anyway. "I'll make sure to mention it."

I delivered all of my orders in a flash, making sure to give Andy his first. I figured I'd already blown my tip, but I might as well not rub salt into the wound. And even though I didn't look directly at Eric, I could feel his gaze following me as I dashed around the room.

Sam was behind the bar when I made it over there to get the wine. Wearing his standard black Merlotte's tee shirt and perfectly broken-in pair of jeans, the sour look plastered on his face was a surprise. Sam was rarely not in a good mood when he was tending to his bar. His wiry body was tensed into a pensive stance and he looked like he was about to jump right over the bar.

"Glass of that new cabernet , please," I said as I traded my serving tray for a drink tray at the bussing station.

He did as I asked, but he wasn't too happy about it. "That for him?" he grumbled, his chin flying in the direction of my hotly debated guest.

The flash from his mind hit me hard and quick, but the word I got was unmistakable. _Vampire._

The cocktail napkin I was holding hung in midair over the tray as I stared at him, though Sam seemed to be staring right through me. "You know him?" I asked. "The vampire?"

Sam's eyes flicked back to me like they were spring loaded. "The _what_?"

"Eric Northman?"

"_You_ know him?" he demanded, his voice lowered to a quiet hiss. His eyes narrowed in a way I'd never seen before.

I regretted letting on to seeing into his head. I'd never come right out said, _Hey, Sam, I can read your thoughts. _And Sam had never come right and said, _I know, you crazy freak. _He wasn't stupid though and people around here gossiped like it was an Olympic sport. There was a certain amount of respect between us though - Sam knew exactly what I was, and in exchange, I stayed out of his thoughts, jumbled and snarled as they were. But judging from the look he was flashing across the room, I realized that maybe I wasn't the one he was mad at.

"That's the guy playing Dracula." I knew I didn't have to explain any further. "How do _you_ know him?"

He looked at me for a few seconds, the distaste obvious on his normally genial face. "He owns a few clubs in Shreveport."

"Oh."

"He's really playing Dracula?"

"Yeah, I guess," I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes as he not-so-gently uncorked a bottle of wine. "You gotta be fucking me."

My eyebrows flew up on my forehead, but I didn't skip a beat as I took out a red wine glass and placed it in front of him. As a rule, Sam never had anything unkind to say about anyone. The drunks or rowdies got thrown out with a firm hand but never an insult. Even on the few occasions that I'd seen him in a bad mood over the years I'd known him, he kept it to himself. It was one of the reasons why working for him had become so easy for me - he wasn't judgmental and he very rarely had dark thoughts.

At that moment, the amount of anger flowing from him scared me. I never thought Sam was capable of feeling that much anger. I must've had a shocked look on my face because when Sam looked up and caught my gaze, his cheeks immediately flamed red. He turned away from me and flung the corkscrew somewhere out of sight.

If Sam Merlotte doesn't like you, that doesn't say much about you.

"He givin' you a hard time?" he asked suddenly.

"No, he's just sittin' there, Sam."

"But he's here to see you?"

I shifted on my feet, giving a little shrug. "Yeah, I suppose so. I can handle myself just fine."

He gave his head a quick shake, sending his bristly auburn hair flying. "Just get him outta here, and call me if you need me."

If Sam felt so strongly about this guy, that was good enough for me. I'd just apologize for wasting his time at the audition and avoid that side of the room until he left. Yes, he was amazingly tall and beautiful, and his voice made parts of my body quiver that I never knew existed, and his mind was quiet as a church on a Monday morning...but I had made it this far in life not giving into temptation or curiosity. (And look where that had gotten me. Right.)

As I set it down the napkin and glass in front of him, I smiled and took a step back, meaning to make a quick exit. "There you go," I announced.

"We seem to have an audience," Eric said.

I did a quick turnaround. Arlene, Lafayette, and Sam - along with everyone on the bar - were all stopped mid-action and staring right at us. Even Andy was watching as he shoveled fritters and roulade into his mouth. I sent a steely glare over my shoulder and they all quickly went about their business, everyone except Sam. He stood at the bar, drying a beer stein and trying his best to look menacing.

"Sorry, we don't get new people in here all that often," I said apologetically, but he looked amused, not offended. My crazy smile was in full effect because I just couldn't look away from him. He was dressed more casually this time, in a pair of jeans and green tee-shirt that fit snuggly across his chest under a beat-up black leather jacket. Epitome of Cool Guy.

"So, you know Sam?"

"Merlotte?" he asked, looking over my shoulder with an untroubled glance. "Our paths have crossed a few times. He doesn't like me very much."

"Not particularly, no."

"He thinks I bite virgins in the pale moonlight."

A glass broke, and I heard Sam curse. All I could do was smile, because if I turned around to look at Sam, I would've blasted him. Eric sipped his wine and arched an eyebrow. His eyes practically glittered under the light of the hanging lamp over our heads. And he still seemed very pale to me. I assumed it was the lighting that had given him that strange gleam, but he almost seemed to shine, like the way skim milk looks blue in the fridge. How he managed to make it work, especially with that mop of sleek platinum hair, was beyond me.

I slipped the little tray under my arm. This was point when I'd usually be on my way, but Sam's hostility and Eric's nonchalant attitude left me feeling curious. "Why are you here, really?" I asked.

"Reconnaissance."

"Ah. So, you're the big guns," I said.

"It would seem so."

"Who sent you? Dylan?" Dylan's last message on my answering machine this morning could officially be classified as frantic.

"No one sent me," he replied. "I was concerned."

"Concerned, why?"

"That something had happened to you."

"Why would you think something like that?" And why would he care anyway?

"Most actresses would rather sign themselves out of the emergency room and walk on crutches before they'd miss their first rehearsal."

Oh, he was being sarcastic, and I think he'd just poked at me. I sighed, shifting on my feet. "Well, I'm fine, as you can see." He silently looked back at me with those challenging eyes and upturned mouth, like he was just waiting for my next snarky comeback. "Look, I don't even know why I auditioned, and I am certainly not an actress. Isn't there someone else that wants the part?"

"Thirty-seven someones, to be exact. Thirty-seven terrible actresses who would be thrilled to play your part."

I rolled my eyes; flattery rarely got people anywhere with me, because I always knew if they had an ulterior motive. But all I got from Eric Northman was an empty head and an unblinking stare.

"I think we both know something...interesting happened the other night," he said.

"Interesting? I don't know what to call it." I closed my eyes for a second and let out a quick breath. I was usually pretty fast with the witty comebacks, but this guy was scrambling my brain waves or something. He adjusted in his seat and I got a whiff of his scent, that combination of aromas that hit my nose and sent a signal right to my girly nerve endings. _Kiss him, date him, make cookies for him..._

"You want to do this." He wasn't cocky when he said this, but like he was simply stating a fact. "Why do you say no?"

"I work nights, a lot." That was true.

"We'll work around it," he said with a shrug of his enormous shoulder.

"But my friend, Tara -"

"Thornton," he finished. "Yes, she's quite enjoying her role. We rehearsed yesterday, and then she measured my inseam with great vigor."

The image of Tara kneeling between Eric's mountainous legs with a measuring tape was enough to make a tiny smile inch up on my face. It hurt my feelings a little that she went without even talking to me about it, but that was very selfish and I tried to put it aside. Besides, I had a much bigger problem to face. How was I supposed to concentrate enough to do this play thing when I could barely look at him without blushing? And how was I possibly going to get him to understand that without outing me as one of the X-Men?

"It's just that I have a hard time concentrating around a lot of people."

"You're doing fine right now," he said.

"That's 'cause I'm trying real hard right now, and I know all these folks."

"Life hands you opportunity sometimes, Miss Stackhouse."

I sighed, "Not in Bon Temps."

I think he was beginning to get the hint about how stubborn I am. No point in arguing with a mule, Gran would always say to me. He hesitated for a good, long while, and I leaned back on my heels, waiting for his next nugget of wisdom, but then he shocked me by taking out his wallet and placing a twenty on the table, like he was getting ready to leave.

"Then stay in Bon Temps."

He pushed his way past me without actually touching me. He was going to leave, and this flustered me and hurt my feelings and irritated me all at the same time.

"Hey - you..." I was stuttering like a fool, panicking at the thought of him walking away from me. "You can't just come in here and-"

He spun around so fast, it was quicker than a blink, and the words got stuck in my throat. "There's something inside of you that you're not aware of. You are wasting yourself here, with these people."

These people were all blatantly staring, slack-jawed.

"I don't know how to be that person," I whispered, though there wasn't really a point. The jukebox had not been reloaded and every glass and utensil was frozen in place.

"Have you even tried? Have you ever tried to be anyone other than this?" His eyes were flashing and he had a wonderful determination on his face, a lightness. When I didn't reply, he added, "You don't strike me as the type to underestimate yourself."

"I'm not," I said quickly.

"Then do it." He smiled then, in a devilish sort of way that screamed innuendo, and his voice dropped a little. "Aren't you just a little curious, Sookie?"

He said my name and it sounded like a sigh, a word whispered on my pillow. "About what?"

"That...click. That moment on the stage when you _were _Mina. I saw it in your eyes."

I chewed the inside of my lip while I stared at him and contemplated the situation. I couldn't just put aside Sam's opinion. I wasn't in the habit of letting other people dictate my decisions, but Sam had a gut feeling about Eric Northman. His thoughts had become crystal clear to me in that moment.

I looked to my left and saw Sam plainly watching us. Not bothering with the glass anymore, he just stood there with arms crossed over his chest. I got hit with a wave of pure and unfiltered jealousy. If his mind had been a color, it would've been red, and maybe a little green. I'd always thought that Sam might have feelings for me, but this pretty much confirmed it in aces.

I looked back to Eric and heard nothing. Not a word, a feeling, a color, or a single sound. He raised that curious eyebrow again as I tried to penetrate his head, but there was nothing there except for a delightful hush. Standing in front of this man, this puzzle of a man that I wanted nothing more than to solve, all I could think of were the endless possibilities before me.

Finally, I smiled. "You're pretty used to getting what you want, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." He returned my smile with a large grin, not apologizing in the least for the cockiness written all over his face. It was quickly gone and replaced by his usual expression of nonchalance.

"Alright. I'm in."

I got home a little after eleven that night. Gran was waiting up, as usual, propped up in her giant bed with a Danielle Steele book. She was under her quilt, wearing a bathrobe over one of her ancient white nightgowns.

I knocked on the doorframe. "Gran, I'm home."

"Hi, honey. How was work tonight?"

"Okay," I said as I pulled my ponytail out and rubbed my scalp a bit. I'd already decided to spare her the details of the rest of my evening with Sam. After Eric left, Sam not only ignored me, but he locked himself in his office until closing, forcing us to make our own drinks and only serve at the tables. This got my co-workers, and the local alcoholics, pretty peeved at yours truly. By the time the place was closed up for the night, I just grabbed my purse and slipped out the backdoor.

"You make good tips?" she asked.

"Some," I shrugged. Weekdays were never good tipping days, mostly because people didn't get very drunk during the week, and the ones that did weren't gonna leave you a tip anyway. "Hey, you know that play I tried out for with Tara last week?"

"Sure."

"Well, I got in."

"Oh, that's wonderful, sweetheart." The smile stretched across her whole face. Of course, she'd be over the moon happy that I was simply getting out of the house.

"I got the lead."

"...What?"

"The part I got - it's the biggest part for a woman. It's actually the biggest part in the whole show, I think."

She looked astonished, even as she tried to keep the smile on her face. "Oh my, Sookie."

I rolled my eyes and sat down on the edge of her bed, letting out a heaving sigh that sounded like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. "Trust me, I know. You think I can do it?"

"What I think doesn't matter, dear."

"I know, but I'm asking."

She neatly folded her page over and placed the book on the nightstand next to her alarm clock and her glass of water. She now had her business cap on. "You say yes yet?"

"Only sort of. Haven't truly made up my mind."

"Well," she said, carefully choosing her words. "I don't think it would be easy for you, but nothing worth doing ever is." I nodded, easily giving in to her generic Gran advice. "I also think that once you put your mind to doing something, you don't give up until the job is done."

I nodded again and chewed on the corner of my finger for a second. That one I also had to give in to, because it was a nice way of saying that I was stubborn, which I am.

"Now, the question is, have you put your mind to this yet?"

There was a knock on the front door and I didn't have the chance to answer.

Gran looked sharply at her clock. "Now who'd that be knocking so late?" she asked.

"I'll go find out," I said.

I was surprised to see Bill Compton's face when I took a peek through the lace shade, but I smiled none the less. "Hey, Bill. It's sorta late for a visit."

"I know and I apologize," he said with a slight inclination of his head. "I only just got in and I wanted to catch you before you retired for the night."

"Well, you got me. What's up?"

He held out a cream colored envelope to me and I immediately recognized the big, bubbly handwriting. "This was delivered to my house today. It looks like a personal letter and I was worried that it might be timely."

I took a step out onto the porch and took the letter, flipping it over to examine it. No return address. "Thanks, Bill. It's from my cousin. We haven't heard from her in a long time."

"I hope she is well."

"I hope so too." The last we'd heard from Hadley, she'd asked Gran for some cash and then skipped town. She left a husband and a little tiny son behind and I had to admit that I didn't have much respect left for the girl, but family is family, and that was something I didn't have a lot of.

I looked at the postmark and made a humpf sound. "New Orleans," I sighed. "Don't suppose any good can come from that."

"Depends on what kind of person you are, I suppose," Bill said.

"Then it's no good at all, I'm afraid." I noticed at that second that it was addressed to me alone. The one and only letter we'd received from Hadley had been shortly after she left and had been addressed to both Gran and I. "I really appreciate you bringing this over."

I took a step back to the door and he advanced a step. "Sookie, I was wondering -" and he suddenly seemed nervous, "If I might call on you some time."

"Call on me?" I couldn't help but smile. I knew what it meant, but it was such an old fashioned thing to say. My grandfather probably said that to Gran when they first started dating.

"Yes, I thought we could take a walk again."

I might not have much of a social life, but I knew it when I was being asked out on a date. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed how handsome Bill was. He was a little shorter than I preferred, but he had very striking features and thick, glossy hair. He also had a lovely set of pearly whites, which let's face it, isn't something you always get to see in Bon Temps. His sideburns were a little long, but they actually set off his chin very nicely.

He was also looking into my eyes and not at my chest. Bonus points.

This was the point in the conversation that I usually took a quick mental dive into the guy's head. Still a blank. No, not a blank, more like empty space. I impulsively grabbed his hands and closed my eyes to listen harder. Nothing.

He was staring at me when I opened my eyes, not rudely, but just with a sort of perplexed look. "What are you doing?"

I smiled and felt a little foolish, though it was certainly not the first time I'd ever done that to someone. "Remind me to tell you sometime," I replied.

I heard Gran on the stairs. She came as far as the second landing, sort of leaning down to get a better look with her robe wrapped around her middle like a cocoon. She was a proper lady after all. "Who is it, Sookie dear?"

"It's Mr. Compton, Gran. He got a letter from Hadley delivered to his house by accident."

"Oh!" Etiquette be damned, she trooped down the remaining stairs and took the letter. "Thank you so much, Mr. Compton."

"My pleasure, Miss Adele. I apologize if I woke you."

"Nonsense," she huffed. "I'm not that old. Besides, we need more gracious men in this world." She took a second to read the front of the envelope and her eyebrows fell together. She didn't say anything, but I knew in an instant what her mind was spinning, no telepathic help on that one.

Maybe it was the way that Bill and I were both looking at her, or maybe she was just miffed about the letter, but she quickly excused herself and went back upstairs.

I turned back to Bill and he smiled rather shyly, bobbing up and down on his heels a few times, and I realized I'd left a question hanging in the air.

"Yes." It came out before I even thought about it.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll go on a walk with you, but I do work most nights."

"Oh, of course," he said with an eager nod. He was beaming but I could tell he was trying to play it cool. "And I have business in New Orleans several times a week."

And then there was that weird allergic to the sun thing. "You can't go out during the daytime at all?"

"Only when it's very overcast."

"You must pray for rain like a farmer," I scoffed, but then regretted the words when I saw his jaw flex and his eyes shift to his feet. "Sorry, that was rude."

"It's fine," he said after a second. "I've lived with this affliction for a long, long time. I've gotten pretty used to it."

"Well, we'll just figure it out I guess." That was when I remembered that my schedule was about to get a whole lot more complicated. "Oh, shoot, I guess I'll have rehearsals to go to now." He looked curious, waiting for an explanation. "I'm in a play. In Shreveport."

His face went slack. "Shreveport."

"Yeah, at the community playhouse. Tara's in it too."

"What play are you performing?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes and smile indulgently. "Dracula. I'm playing Mina."

A pause. "That's quite a part."

"So I'm finding out," I said. "I'm nervous as all get-out. I just agreed to do the part tonight, so I haven't really gone over much of the script yet."

Just then Gran called down for me - her way of giving me a get out of jail free card. "Be up in a sec, Gran!" I called out, and when I turned back to face Bill, I caught him smelling my hair. Now, I get that sniffing a girl is one of those weird things that guys do and us girls are supposed to just ignore it, but when I say Bill smelled me, I could hear him suck in the air through his nose like a bloodhound. It was just plain weird, and I smelled like burger grease and Budweiser on top of it.

Our faces were very close together as he lifted his head. He stared at me and I gazed into his deep, dark brown eyes. They were so dark, like they were completely dilated and his irises were gone. "Sookie, listen carefully." His voice was different suddenly, deep and dramatic sounding. "Do you know anyone else in Shreveport?"

My eyes narrowed with suspicion. "A few I guess."

"Someone came to see you tonight. Was it at Merlotte's?"

But I never told Bill I worked at Merlotte's.

He gently took me by the shoulders and pulled me closer to him. I guess I let him because I was so shocked at his sudden strange change of behavior, I wanted to know what the hell he was doing. He was staring so deeply into my eyes that I had to blink and look away, but he ducked his gaze down and caught my line of sight again.

His fingers squeezed harder. "Sookie, tell me who came to see you tonight."

I pulled his hands off my shoulders, with some grunting effort, and stepped back through the threshold. "I don't think that's any of your damn business."

The look of shock on his face was almost comical. He was flabbergasted, like I was supposed to respond in some other way to his big powerful man routine. For a second, I thought he was going to come into the house and I scurried back a few more steps, but then he backed off and stared down at his trusty brown loafers again.

"I apologize," he grumbled.

"Yeah, well..."

"Sookie..."

"Goodnight, Bill." When I closed the door and locked it, he stood there for a few seconds, then he seemed to disappear off the porch. Had he jumped off the side, for Pete's sake? That situation had gone from good to bad very quickly, and I wouldn't be going on a walk with Bill Compton any time soon.

After that, there wasn't anything left to do except turn off the lights and head upstairs. Gran's door was already closed but her light was still on - a sure sign that she was not in the mood for talking about the possibilities of her other granddaughter's life.

It was a difficult topic for Gran. Even though we both agreed that Hadley was an adult and she made her own decisions, Gran had always feared for the outcome of her life. After Hadley's mother, my Aunt Linda, passed away from cancer, Gran was left with three grandkids to love and be responsible for. Jason and I, well, she'd done right by us. But Hadley was different, always had been. Hailey only came by when she needed cash or someplace to crash after another fight with her father.

The letter was resting on a throw pillow on my bed. I wanted nothing more than to take a shower and slip into my nightclothes, but I needed to know. Without even taking off my shoes, I sat down on the edge of my bed and ripped it open.

It was written on elegant, thick stationary and reminded me nothing of my cousin. There was a monogram written in ornate silver letters in the bottom right corner - SAL. Hadley's writing was messy and rushed.

_There are things happening that I can't control and I'm sorry. If I explained, it'd make things worse. Don't trust anyone, no one is what they seem. Take care of yourself and tell Gran I'm sorry._

That was it. I flipped over the paper but the back was blank. No signature, no date. Why had Hadley gone out of her way to send a cryptic letter with four sentences that made no sense? She seemed scared, that was obvious. It didn't tell me much, but it left me with a lot to think about.

First item on the list - Bill Compton. Second item on the list - Eric Northman. In the span of one evening, I'd had strange conversations with the only two people I'd ever met that I couldn't read. And I'd gotten a letter warning me not to trust anyone.

Have I mentioned that I'm not a big believer in coincidences?

_**Hmm, seems like a mystery, which we all know Sookie can't ignore.**__**Remember to review please! Feed my sad, sad addiction. I love to hear to hear from you and I try to answer all of them. Next chapter, someone new comes to visit... **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: So, as it turns out, I take my writing pretty seriously. (Everyone that knows me just nodded and rolled their eyes.) I tried rewriting this chapter a few times, because it's a very important moment. At first I was going to separate into two different chapters but I couldn't get the flow right. I also feel there has to be a certain amount of trust between Eric and Sookie before the big 'V' word comes up. So settle in, cuz this is a long one. **_

**Chapter Five**

"No, no, no!" Dylan whined. "Sookie, you're supposed to be downstage already! How the hell is he supposed to take your pulse if your all the way back there?"

Turns out, I wasn't the natural that everyone thought I was going to be. Big surprise for them.

"Sorry, sorry," I muttered, making yet another pencil note on my script. I took one step in the wrong direction (downstage is _up_)before I immediately corrected my course and looked up at the man playing Dr. Van Helsing. Henry smiled sympathetically, though he was clearly bored with the likes of me.

"Take it back a few, Henry," Dylan said with a impatient shake of his head.

Henry looked to me as I positioned myself back onto the settee I'd been sitting on. I nodded and let out a long sigh. Sure, let's try it again. It was, in fact, the fifth time we'd stopped so I could take notes on something. _Say it with more passion, Remember to pass the teacup, Bring heels next time._

"I fear the worst may be already upon us, gentlemen," Henry said, affecting his voice with a perfect (so I've been told) German accent. Then he held his hands out in my direction."Miss Mina, if I may be so bold?"

I walked over to him, making sure that I was facing out as I turned toward him with outstretched hands. He took my hands with some amount of awkwardness because I still needed to hold my script, then he took my pulse and examined my wrists. "Have you been tired? Eating properly? Your skin is so cold, my child."

"I'm fine, I assure you," As I quickly pulled my hands away from Henry, my script fell in a pile of pages and Post-it's at my feet, and I realized I didn't know the next line. As I scrambled to scoop it up and find my place, Jeanette called out my line from the wings and I repeated it loudly. "Lucy is the one you should be concerned with, doctor, not me."

"Lucy is in God's hands now," one of the other men said with an overly dramatic sigh.

"Dr. Van Helsing is just being precautious, Mina," the other man said. "You must trust his instincts."

Then they were all looking at me and when Jeanette started yelling again, I knew I'd missed another line. "As I said, I assure you I'm fine."

"He will trick you into thinking you're fine, miss, when you are certainly not."

"He?" I asked.

"The Count," Henry said.

"You know nothing of the Count. He's kind to me."

Henry grabbed me by the wrists again and roughly pushed up one of my sleeves. During the show, I was going to have some bite marks and gory make-up on my arm. "This is nothing? He has befouled you, miss. He's the demon, _nosferatu! _He is the reason why your Lucy lies in her death bed!"

I looked back at him and I blanked, then I looked down at my script but couldn't find my place. The three of them were looking at me expectantly and all I could do was sigh and shake my head. "Sorry," I grumbled, pawing through my script.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Dylan," the other man suddenly called out. Luke was playing Dr. Seward and I assumed he was God's gift to the stage because that's how he acted. "She can't even read her goddamned script."

Dylan was already approaching the stage. "Okay, everyone take five. Sookie, can I talk to you for a sec?"

I took a few steps up to the edge of the stage and kneeled down so I'd be closer to him. "Yeah?"

"What's happening up there right now?" he asked.

"I don't know," I sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm trying my best."

"No, you're not, and I know that for a fact because I've seen it with my own damn eyes."

I stared back at him, my jaw set and arms now crossed, and that was all I could do. I had no sharp or witty comeback, because he _had_ seen better. (Damned if I knew how to do it again.) But Dylan seemed like a fairly kind man, and not nearly as bad-ass as he wanted the cast to believe he was. That's why he took pity on me I guess, because he patted my shoe and gave me a quarter of a smile.

"You gotta find your place in this group, Sookie, or they're never gonna let you in."

Something told me that he was speaking from experience, and I knew already that this was only his second production out of grad school. I tried to smile appreciatively at him, but I think it came off more as a scowl.

"Take five," he sighed. "And think about it."

Only I didn't need to think about it. It was my third rehearsal, and I wasn't doing any better than the first. With my script, I was fine. I was actually darn proud of myself for getting out there like I knew what I was doing. But at every turn, it became blaringly obvious that I did not know what I was doing, especially when I realized that I was the only one that even needed a script. Even Tara had memorized her lines already. Granted, she only had twenty of them, compared to the million and a half that I had, but it still made me feel bad.

The only redeeming moment I'd had all week was when Dylan decided that we were going to give up the English accents. He opted to change the setting of our play from London to turn-of-the-century New Orleans, because aside from Eric, the only one that could do any sort of accent was Henry. Most of us could barely tone down our drawls, let alone figure out how to do a different one.

It wasn't a large cast, thirteen all together, but my brain hurt like I'd worked a double every time rehearsal was over. The other females hated me plenty. One thought she should've gotten the lead, which I was opt to agree with. Another one thought I looked like the woman her husband had cheated with and had decided my name was actually _whore. _The men could care less, as long as I showed up wearing a tight shirt. The man playing my fiancé had particularly disgusting thoughts about me, but was also scared shitless that I was going to screw the pooch.

And then there was Eric.

When I was on stage with him, I felt completely at ease. I couldn't lower my shields, but just knowing that his mind was a blank slate made me feel better. In a roomful of strangers, his was a friendly face. He smiled at me a lot. Not in a big goofy way, but in a sly, GQ sorta way that let me know I could go to him. I hadn't yet, of course, but I knew I could.

I sat down a few aisle back from the front with my legs curled under me and my script open on my knees. Everyone else was off chit-chatting backstage or in the lobby, but I stayed put, sucking on my water bottle and hoping to absorb some of the acting vibes. I reread the same line about twenty times. _Lucy is the one you should be concerned with, doctor, not me._

I saw Charlotte Dufrane walking my way and my stomach clenched. She had auditioned for the part of Mina but had gotten Lucy instead, still a pretty substantial part, but not the lead. Charlotte had been the female lead in the last six shows at the playhouse. I guess I'd want to scratch my eyes out too, but that wasn't an excuse for how passive aggressive and nasty she'd been to me.

Charlotte was originally from Savannah and I was convinced she was the reason why Southern belles had become a cliché. Blonde hair as big as a meringue, perfect nails and make-up, and always dressed like she was on the way to a DAR meeting. Her thoughts and body language gave up a whole lot more about her than she realized.

I wanted to get up and scurry away like a field mouse, but that was an impossibility. Showing weakness in front of the alpha female would surely result in me sitting alone for the next two months. Complete social banishment. And even though these people were strangers and I knew Tara would never reveal my secret, I wanted to stay normal around them for as long as I could.

"Hey, Sookie," she drawled, stopping right in front of me.

"Hi, Charlotte."

"How you doing with those lines, sweetie?" And by sweetie, she meant bitch.

"Oh, I'm pluggin' along," I said, motioning to the page. In other words, leave me the heck alone.

"Must be real tough memorizing all those lines, you being a first timer and all."

"It's not so hard. I just pretend to be someone I'm not. I'm sure you know what I mean, you're an old pro."

Her eyes slowly narrowed, and I realized she was smarter than I was giving her credit for. We both smiled after a second, the kind of smile that you need Vaseline to keep up, and I thought that was the end of it, but she wasn't through with me yet.

"You know," she went on, "That Eric is one heck of a study partner. You should ask him for some help. I don't mind."

"Why would you mind?"

"Oh, we've been working together at night after rehearsal."

"Have you now?" The smile on my face was now stretched to painful lengths.

"Oh yeah, he's real good at what he does. He just gets something out of me when we read those lines together. And that bedroom scene - well, it's just gonna be scandalous." She whispered the word _scandalous _like it was a curse, like she hadn't already told half the state of Louisiana this very story. "He really gets into the whole vampire thing. I think he's a method actor. You know what that is?"

"No, I do not." Although I was sure she was going to enlighten me.

"It's when you become that person you're playing, night and day. You know, to get everything about the character just right. So right now, Eric is living and breathing being a vampire."

"Vampires don't breathe," I said.

"What?"

"Vampires are already dead, so that would mean they don't breathe."

"Whatever," she giggled, flipping her mane. "He can suck on my neck anytime."

When an image from her mind of Eric and Charlotte in an embrace assaulted me, every wise ass comment I could have possibly made went right out of my head. At least if he was doing it with Charlotte, maybe that meant he wasn't doing it with the blonde from the bar. That made me feel marginally better, although it did lower my opinion of Eric somewhat.

At this point, I was going to say something very unchristian to Charlotte, or chew off my own finger just to have an excuse to get up for a band-aid, when Eric walked through the door. He had on a pair of baggy cargo pants and flip flops, and he must've owed a V-neck tee-shirt in every color of the rainbow. This time it was cornflower blue. It was a credit to his unfiltered sexiness that he could so effortlessly switch between business hot and casual hot. As he threw his beat-up leather messenger bag onto an empty seat, his eyes scanned the room until they settled on me. He wore his usual cool, half-smile as he approached.

"Hey, Eric," Charlotte drawled way too early. He was still ten feet away and I almost cringed at her desperate attempt to get his attention.

"Hello, Sookie." He tipped his head to me as I gave him a half-hearted smile back. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Charlotte."

"I was just giving Sookie here some acting pointers." Her smile was almost as big as her hair.

He considered her for a few seconds. "I bet you were."

"I think she just lacks a little confidence -"

"Charlotte," he interrupted. "Don't you have something insipid to do somewhere else?"

She paused, her eyes flickering between us, then she let out a little nervous giggle. "Well, sure."

"Then go do it."

She stared at him real hard for a few seconds, and I thought she was about to lay into him like a pissed off cotillion queen, but she just nodded dumbly and said, "Okay. Later y'all." Then she shook her way backstage and could be heard laughing and flirting away within in seconds.

"Was she bothering you?" he asked.

I gave a little shrug. "No more than she bothers anyone else, I guess."

"Dylan would like to run the asylum scene with us."

My stomach clenched again. I'd been both dreading and anticipating this moment. It was a scene that took place in the city insane asylum, where Dr. Seward works. Dr. Seward hides Mina away in his apartment there in hopes of keeping her away from the Count, but he finds her anyway. It was a scene with a range of emotions. It was also a scene in which Eric and I were going to kiss and grope each other a lot.

I let out a long sigh, but at the same exact moment, I was suddenly sick of feeling sorry for myself. Eric had done a very crafty job of convincing me I was making the right choice, but ultimately, I made the choice all by myself to take on this craziness. I was gonna have to put on my big girl panties or step aside, admit defeat.

"May I sit down?" he asked.

"What will Charlotte think?" My words were biting and childish and I regretted them the second I let them slip out of my mouth.

He looked confused. "I care very little for what Charlotte thinks." So I scooted over a seat and he did his best to wedge himself into the tiny, red velour-lined seat I'd just been occupying. His knees were practically in his chest, but he didn't complain. "What is troubling you?"

"Everyone knows I'm a fraud," I replied glumly.

He shook his head. "People only know what you want them to know."

"Yeah, but this isn't like studying for a test or memorizing a menu. You have to feel it."

"And you're not feeling Mina yet?"

"I'm trying real hard, but she's a little hard to relate to.

"Maybe not," he shrugged. "She's a young, unmarried woman living in a world dominated by men. She has strong virtues and opinions but is afraid to speak her mind. She wants love, excitement, a little danger. She wants to be responsible for her own fate and falls into the arms of a mysterious stranger."

Hmm, mysterious stranger. "You got that all from a script?"

"And the book. I've read it many times."

"Well, you're better than me. I couldn't get past the second chapter."

He turned toward me and arched an eyebrow. "Either you're fishing for a compliment, or you still haven't realized that you deserve to be here. You have a natural gift for this, Sookie. Please remember that so I don't have to keep reminding you."

I rolled my eyes at him, which was rewarded with a wink, then he tapped on my script like a teacher scolding a student who wasn't paying attention.

Tara came bounding over to us with a giant grin on her face. "Hey, y'all. Sook, a bunch of the cast is going out for drinks after rehearsal. I was thinking we could go. How 'bout you, Eric?"

"Thank you, I have to work," he declined with a polite smile.

"What about it, Sook?"

Tara drove that night, which meant that if she wanted to go out for drinks, then I was coming along too. But after working all week with no day off, the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was try to be social with a bunch of people that didn't like me in the first place.

"Aww shoot, Tara. I kinda just wanted to relax tonight. I'm pretty beat."

"Come on, Sookie, everyone wants to get to know you. They keep asking about you." Somehow, I doubted the amount of truth in that statement, but I wasn't going to argue with her in front of Eric. "I really wanna go."

"I can drive you home," Eric suggested in a quiet, passive voice, like he didn't care either way.

Tara's eyes lit up, but I quickly shot her a look. "That's awful nice of you, Eric, but it's such a long drive." I knew he worked in Shreveport, but I had no idea where he lived. I actually knew precious little about him at all.

"It's no trouble. I actually have some business in Bon Temps tonight."

"See, Sookie," she squeaked, tapping me on the arm. "He's already going to Bon Temps anyway. It's like it's fate."

I eyed her up good and hard for that one, but finally said, "Well, alright. Thanks, Eric."

"Not a problem."

Just then, Dylan started making a fuss with his paperwork as he settled himself back into his usual spot in the middle of the first row. This was our signal that he was ready to start again. "Eric, Sookie, let's run 2E."

I watched as Jeanette and another stage hand wheeled a small platform out onto the stage. It had two walls which formed the corner of a room, with a large window and an old fashioned, metal framed bed. I also watched as the rest of the cast filed in from various directions and sat down in the first couple rows. Normally, none of them stuck around if they weren't in the scene, but now there was a show to be seen.

I let out a thin sigh through pursed lips, when Eric stood up and reached his hand out to me. "Ready?"

"Nope." But I took his hand anyway and let him lightly pull me out of my seat, directly past Charlotte (okay, that made me smile a little), and up the small set of stairs on the far end of the orchestra pit.

"Off book next time we run this, please," Dylan announced as the lights dimmed.

"Yes, sir, sorry," I mumbled as I sat down on the bed. Jeannette locked the casters at that very same second and the whole platform jerked, causing me to fall onto the mattress with a plop. My cheeks burned as I hear the sound of chuckling drifting up from the audience.

I looked over to Eric, who was already waiting in the wings. He gave me a quick nod of encouragement, assuring me that I could in fact do this. I nodded back and took a deep breath. Time to put on my big girl panties...

The stage lights came up and it was so quiet, I could almost imagine that we were alone. I laid down in the bed and pulled the sheet up to cover my chest, my script securely held in the other hand. I didn't hear him cross the stage, but I felt him sit very close to me on the bed.

"My love," he whispered, his voice once again thick with that old world accent.

Seeing him lean over me, his hair hanging down over his forehead, was almost too much for my girlie parts to handle. "Oh, my prince," I gasped, quickly sitting up. Eric wrapped his long arms around me so my chin was resting on his shoulder and I could gaze out into the darkness of the auditorium. I desperately tried not to notice how close my face was to his smooth neck, or how good he smelled as the fabric of his shirt shifted. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Shhh. I am here now, my love."

"If they find you -"

"They won't."

"But they're searching for you. They mean to kill you!"

"None have found that to be an easy task, my love."

"Dr. Van Helsing told them to burn the ground. How will you -"

"It is already done, I cannot rest here another day." He pulled away from me and held my face between his hands. "Mina, we must go now. There is a boat waiting."

"They won't let you take me, they'll stop us."

"They can try and they will fail."

"No, it's Jonathon...he'll die before he lets you...you must do it now."

"No, not yet."

"Yes, you must finish it," I cried, holding on to the front of his shirt.

"One more day of life, Mina," he said, smoothing out my hair with a long, soft stroke. "One more sunrise before an eternity of darkness."

"I don't care for the sunlight, I only care about you."

"You will care, my love. After a hundred, a thousand years, you will care very much. You will remember every color, every detail of your final hours as a mortal. This is a gift to you, one I was never given. Only then can you be certain."

"This life is done for me," I said. "There is nothing without you."

This is the part that caused me to have heart palpitations when I first read through the script. Tara told me not to worry about it - she said that they usually leave the kissing practice until the last few rehearsals. But when Dylan didn't stop us and Eric's hands reached up to grasp my shoulders, I realized he was actually going to kiss me.

So I let him.

I gasped and the air got trapped in my lungs as he planted his lips on mine. The first thing I felt was how cold his lips were, but then I didn't care. I melted against him as his fingers snaked through my hair and he kissed me like I'd never been kissed before. Literally. My sexual experience was limited to a few gropes and sloppy make-out sessions, so my material for comparison was minimal, but even I knew the difference between a real kiss and a practice kiss. And this was no practice kiss. This was a kiss that made me feel like my insides were on fire.

When he pulled away, I felt a sharp scrape against my lower lip and I suddenly got the taste of something tangy and metallic in my mouth. Eric had fangs over his front canine teeth and one of them was tinged with my blood. When did he pop those in? On instinct, I reached up to touch my lip and my fingers came away with more blood. Eric looked like he was about to completely lose it. He was breathing raggedly and he squeezed his eyes shut, like he was trying to control something happening inside of him. He looked at me with nothing but pure shock written all over his face. Was he surprised that I kissed him back?

"Whoa. That was - just, whoa," Dylan said, his eyes wide behind his glasses. The houselights came back on and he hopped right up onto the edge of the stage. "There 's the magic I saw last week. Sookie, that was amazing. You didn't miss a word."

That's when I looked down and realized the script was laying next to me on the sheet. I hadn't looked at it once. I couldn't help the smile that zoomed across my face. "Thanks, Dylan."

"Eric, we're gonna set you up with a break-away harness for that entrance and you're gonna come in through the window."

Eric nodded. "Sounds great." He was noticeably fang free and clearly distracted.

The rest of rehearsal was a blur. Dylan gave me copious amounts of notes, but he didn't yell at me again, so I guess that was progress. I didn't do another scene with Eric, but I felt his eyes on me everywhere I went, like he was trying to figure me out. I suppose I had the same look on my own face when he noticed I was looking back.

As the night came to an end, Tara gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek, then went off to stuff seven more people into her beater of a car. I wandered toward the front door and noticed Eric had silently taken a place right next to me. When he held the door open for me, I was embarrassed at how giddy it made me feel.

"Sorry about the fangs," he said quietly as we made our way across the street to the parking lot.

"That's alright," I said with a smile. "Just be careful with those things in the future."

"Why did you ask me about Charlotte before?"

A bit surprised at his change of subject, I hesitated, then cleared my throat before responding. "Uh, well, it's just that she may have...um, implied that you two were seeing each other outside of rehearsals."

"And that bothered you?" he asked.

There was no point in being dishonest with him, after he's gotten to know the inside of my mouth so well this evening. "Well, yeah, I suppose it did."

"Interesting." When I stopped walking and just stared at him for a few seconds, he added, "She frequents one of my clubs. She is under the delusion that this is the basis for a relationship."

"What club?"

He smiled archly. "Sangre, not too far from here."

My eyebrows lifted high, but I didn't say a word. I'd heard plenty about Sangre. Dawn from Merlotte's went there, and so did a few other ladies around town with questionable reputations. From what I gathered, it was a Goth club, though I couldn't really explain for certain what that meant. (For Dawn, it meant lots of black eyeliner and leather miniskirts.) It was the type of place that you could go to and not worry about anyone gossiping, because everyone there was doing something they shouldn't be.

"Oh. I've never been there."

He laughed, and the sound of his laugh surprised me. It was warm and happy, but only lasted for a few seconds. "Oh, I think I'd remember if you had. You'd look like Little Red Riding Hood walking in to that place."

Did I scream virgin or something?

"Charlotte on the other hand..." I could fill in the blank.

"She said you ran lines together."

"Once," he admitted. Then he paused, to make sure he had my full attention. "I like a little more chase in my game."

"...Oh."

I followed him to the far side of the parking lot, where a lone car sat under the orange streetlights. I stood before the squat, shiny red car as he took out his keys and opened the passenger side door for me.

"A Corvette?" I mean, really? Of course he drove a Corvette.

He couldn't help the grin as he gave an apologetic shrug. "It gets great gas mileage."

"Really?"

"No."

I tossed my purse and script onto the seat and when I turned around, his body was very close to mine. Either he moved very fast or I was very tired. "Well, you're just full of surprises tonight."

"Funny," a voice from behind us said. "I was just thinking the same thing."

We both whipped around to see a small, dark man standing in the shadows of the adjacent building. He wasn't all together unpleasant to look at, but something about him gave off a danger vibe, despite the fact that he was no taller than I was. He had large swarthy eyes, an eagle-like nose, with waves of ebony hair falling to his shoulders. He was wearing a black on black suit that would've been dashing on anyone else. On him it looked like a costume.

"You're heavenly. " The man took a step closer to me and it looked like he was sniffing the air, but Eric forced his body against mine, pressing me up against the car.

"She's mine," Eric said in a voice as close to a growl as a human's could get.

"Eric," I gasped. I tried to wiggle free but he wouldn't let me budge. Apparently he thought he owned me, on top of owning a Corvette.

The man didn't seem fazed at all by Eric's rudeness, nor the fact that he was a good two heads shorter than him. He just smiled in a very disturbing way, then let his eyes settle on my cleavage after taking his time to look me up and down. Subtle, this one. "Yours you say?" he asked.

"I am no one's to be had, thank you very much," I griped, poking Eric in the rump and squeezing by him. Rather than running my mouth, I reached out with my mental feelers to get a peak in the man's head, and damned if he was another blank space. Two black holes where brains should've been, standing right next to each other.

The man's large eyes widened for a second, then he smiled wickedly. "Oh, you are a special one, aren't you? Give her here for a quick nip."

"Fuck off." Eric pushed me back behind him but never lost eye contact. "Sookie, stop it."

That took a moment to sink in. Stop what exactly?

The smile never left the man's face, though it certainly wasn't because he was being friendly. "Sophie Anne never mentioned that she had a telepath in her retinue."

I felt Eric's entire body tense up at the precise second my own muscles froze. _A what now? _ "She doesn't," he said.

"Ah, so you're in the habit of keeping secrets from your regent, are you, _sheriff_?" When Eric didn't respond, the man went on, "I seem to be at an advantage here. Sookie, is it?"

The man dripped with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He seemed to think he was pretty damn special. I also noticed he had the same accent that Eric did on stage. My eyes narrowed to slits, but when Eric didn't protest, I gave him a simple nod.

"I am Vladislav Dracul Tepes III. You can call me Vlad. And you -" He pointed to Eric with an index finger. "You can call me my Lord."

Eric was not a man I thought I'd ever see get flustered, but it seemed like he was at a loss for words. Then he bowed his head and cleared his throat, instantly submitting to the man. "Sir, my Lord, I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't," the man said with a roll of his eyes. "I would've ripped your throat out just now. I still might."

"Sir, with all due respect -"

"Yes, let's talk about respect, Mr. Northman. Imagine my surprise when your lovely sovereign told me that one of her most beloved sheriffs was portraying a _vampire. _And not just any vampire, mind you. I had to come see for myself."

Eric didn't say a word. He just stood there and stared back at this man, who was smaller and older than him, and tried his best to look unthreatening.

"Needless to say, I'll be around town until I can see your little production. Sophie Anne plans on bringing her entire entourage to opening night." He looked back to me. "Which should prove rather interesting for you, _my love_." The words, the same ones Eric had said only moments earlier, sounded cruel and vulgar coming from his mouth.

"She is mine," Eric repeated, though not as nasty as the first time.

The man sucked his teeth and it made my dinner churn. "Well, we'll see about that. Now, it is only out of my deference for Sophie Anne that I will forget this little incident. This one time."

After a long, quiet moment, Eric muttered, "Sookie, get in the car. Now."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I slid into the little red car just in time for Eric to slam the door shut, then I looked out the window to see the two of them staring at each other, both unwavering in their expression of loathing. Finally, the man gestured toward the car and very stiffly, Eric turned away. Normally I would've made a joke about seeing him stuff his enormous frame into such a tiny space, but the moment didn't call for it.

We were on the highway in what seemed like seconds. He was driving with one foot in the grave, never going under ninety. I put on my seatbelt and watched the speedometer in terror for a few minutes before I dared say a word.

"What just happened?"

Eric looked like he wanted to punch a wall. "Nothing."

"Who was that guy, Eric? Was he your boss or something?"

"No one you need to be worried about."

"I wouldn't say that's true. He seemed pretty interested in me."

"Because he's used to getting what he wants."

"Is that why you said I'm yours? What's that about?"

The muscles in his jaw flexed as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. "Don't ask me questions I can't answer, woman."

Oh, now I'm _woman_? "It's another ten exits to Bon Temps," I said, and I think I was being exceptionally reasonable about the whole thing. "We've got plenty of time. Why did he call you sheriff? And who is Sophie Anne?"

Without warning, he pulled the car over to the shoulder and slammed on the brakes, causing me to test the durability of my seatbelt. He turned to me and stared very deeply into my eyes. "Sookie, you will forget all of this."

Was he high? "No, I won't."

"Look at me," he commanded. He was doing that same weird thing that Bill had tried, some sort of hypnotism maybe. His pupils seemed to get larger and when he spoke, his voice was slow and calm, like he was talking to a child. Or someone very stupid. "You got into my car and I drove you home. We talked about the play and the weather. You will forget everything else."

"Stop doing that! It doesn't work on me!" I cried.

He kept up the stare for a long moment, like he was trying harder or something. I rolled my eyes and he grunted, shooting the car into traffic without so much as a backwards glance. "Is everything this difficult with you?"

"When a pigheaded arrogant jerk tries to push me around, you're damn right it is." Then I righted myself in the seat and crossed my arms over my chest.

A minute passed and I watched his muscles slowly unwind. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled. "Has anyone else tried to do that to you before?"

"My neighbor. You guys should join a club to-" My sentence trailed off as I realized the implications of what I'd just said. I couldn't read either one of them, and they both tried to put the whammy on me. That was simply too much coincidence to be an actual coincidence.

The rest of the ride was quiet. I did a lot of thinking while I stared out the window at the darkened scenery. Eric handled the car like an Indy driver and the normally forty minute drive took exactly twenty-three. I refused to acknowledge that he was endangering my life because I really didn't want to talk to him, so I sat there in uncomfortable silence, only muttering one word directions once we got off the highway.

When we pulled into my driveway, I saw that all the lights were off already except for the porch and front hallway. I realized how late it was and that Gran had probably gone to bed already. She did that on occasion, when she got really tuckered out.

"Thanks for the ride," I grumbled, then I quickly scooted out of the car and climbed the front porch steps. There was a smallish pile of red and white fur curled up on the welcome mat, which quickly perked up its ears and sniffed me when I came near. "Hey, Dean," I said, giving his soft head a pat. "You looking for some dinner tonight?"

Dean was a stray dog that I'd sort of adopted a few weeks back. He hung around Merlotte's and was always looking for a handout and a little love when I got out of work. One night he'd followed me all the way home, and since then, he'd just randomly show up on the porch. I think he was some kind of sheepdog, and he looked like a Dean to me.

As I dug around my purse for my keys, I heard the driver's door open and close. I turned around and he was standing at the top of the stairs, holding out my script, which I'd left behind in my hurry to flee. As I reached out to take it, Dean stood up and bared his teeth. I'd never even heard him bark up to this point, but he was growling at Eric like he was a cat burglar.

"Dean, it's just Eric," I scolded, scratching behind his ear. I admit that I found some humor in the dog's reaction to Eric, because he wasn't my favorite person in the world at the moment, but I couldn't have this little creature scaring people off my porch.

"Is this your...dog?"

"Not really," I shrugged. "I just feed him and scratch his belly sometimes."

He seemed amused. "Sounds like an optimal relationship."

Dean growled again, but then laid down at my feet. "Anyway, thanks for the ride," I said.

His face sobered when he realized I was blowing him off. "I know you have questions."

"Which you're not gonna answer."

"No, for your own good," he said.

"I don't think that's up to you."

"He's a dangerous man, Sookie."

"I figured." Someone that speaks in a creepy accent and uses a lot of thinly veiled threats was usually up to no good.

"And you're not afraid?"

I shrugged and pretended not to notice as he took a step closer to me. That same thumpity-thump echoed in my chest every time he got within a foot of me and I had to crane my neck to look up at his face. "I can handle myself."

"I've noticed." He looked down at me with a reluctant smile on his face, and I God help me, but I wanted him to kiss me for real. And he had that look again, like he was trying to solve me. "What are you?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

"I'm a waitress."

"I think we both know you're a bit more than that."

I couldn't stand on my front porch and tell this man that I barely knew my deepest and darkest secret, but I wanted to. Part of me was sure that he knew exactly what I was already. The word telepath hung in the air between us, unspoken but admitted, already having been outted by Vlad the weirdo. But how could they possibly know? How could they feel me feeling them?

"What are _you_?" I asked instead.

And he quickly replied, "I'm a vampire."

I didn't laugh or smile or shrug it off. I just stared back at him and basked in the silence of his thoughtless brain.

After a moment, he tipped his head and said, "Goodnight, Miss Stackhouse."

"Goodnight, Eric."

He was in the car and backing out of the driveway before I even got the door open. All I could do was look down at Dean and shake my head.

"Well, come on. Let's go see what we can scrounge up for you." He happily followed me into the kitchen, though if Gran knew I let him into the house on occasion, she'd be tempted to tan my hide. My cat, Tina, was especially not fond of this practice.

I saw a baking dish covered with plastic wrap on the kitchen table - sticky buns with pecans, still warm. There was also a note from Gran, which I read with a sigh.

_Sookie dear, I went to bed early. Weeding the flower beds took it out of me today. Please bring this over to Mr. Compton when you get home. I want him to have them with his coffee in the morning. There's brisket and beans in the oven. Love, Gran_

Bill Compton was the last person I felt like dealing with at the moment, especially considering how our last conversation played out. Gran would never have asked me to do this if she'd known I was going to be getting home so late. But seeing as I wasn't there to help her in the garden that day _and_ I hadn't told her I was going to be late in the first place, there was simply no way around this ridiculous errand. If she woke up and saw those sticky buns still sitting there on the table, there'd be hell to pay.

With a few more sighs and a supply of curses whispered under my breath, I rummaged through the fridge until I found a suitable meal for Dean. Cold cuts and a few slices of cheese would have to do this time. I'd have to remember to buy some dog kibble the next time I went to Wal-Mart.

Dean's food got served on a very nice saucer, because why not? I grabbed a sweatshirt from the front hall closet and went out the back door. When I put the little plate down on the bottom step, I expected the scruffy dog to devour it, but as I started to walk across the yard, Dean followed me.

"Don't get mad if a raccoon eats that before we get back," I said, but I was secretly glad for the company. Walking through the cemetery at eleven o'clock sounded like a bad idea even to me. The dog stayed right at my side the whole way, alert and looking for trouble around every corner.

I would just ring the doorbell and leave the dish on the front porch. Cowardly, yes. Pathetic, a little. I was hoping he wasn't even home - he had said that he worked at night and spent a lot of time in the city. Maybe Bill was very nice like Gran thought, but I'd learned to trust my instincts over the years, and the little danger light in my head started blinking every time I thought of him.

My plan of delivering the dish and heading for the hills was quickly forgotten when I emerged from the trees and saw a red Corvette sitting in Bill's driveway.

_**A/N: So, there you have it. Hit that review button and make me oh-so-happy! It is a proven scientific fact that the more reviews an author gets, the quicker they post new chapters. It's true, look it up. ;) Next up, a certain blonde in Manolos shows up at Merlotte's.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: This is a Sam chapter. I love Sam Merlotte, and I love writing scenes between him and Sookie - their chemistry is just too much fun to explore. Now don't get me wrong, Eric Northman is the one that I dream of, but Sam is the one I always pictured Sookie ending up with. Spoiler alert for those who haven't finished the series, but I like the way CH ended things for our heroine. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy this chapter as much I enjoyed writing it. There are a few other familiar faces in here too. ;)**_

**Chapter Six**

I stared at Eric's car in disbelief. I laid my hand on the hood, just to convince myself that it was in fact his car and not some other red Corvette that happened to be parked in my neighbor's driveway. Still warm.

Not because I believed that man is inherently good, because I knew better than that, trust me. But because he caught me off guard and that doesn't happen to me very often. Well, it never happens, to be honest. I have very good intuition, on top of my little helper, and if I thought someone was about to do something fishy, I took a look in their heads and their thoughts usually confirmed my suspicions. But Eric snuck up on me, and for one minute, I forgot myself.

Okay, let's go over the possible reasons this could be happening. Eric got amnesia somewhere between my driveway and Bill's driveway and stopped for directions. Not likely. Bill needed help opening a jar and flagged down an unsuspecting passerby. Again, unlikely. Eric and Bill already knew each other and were keeping this information from me for some unknown reason. That sounded about right.

My first instinct was to throw the dish of sticky buns through Eric's windshield, then pick it up and throw it through Bill's front room window. All things considered, I should've turned on my heel and walked away from the whole damn thing.

That would've been the smart thing to do.

Eric's voice could be heard through an open window. I couldn't make out the words but he didn't sound any happier than I was. (That didn't buy him any bonus points.) The second I stepped onto the gravel driveway and approached the house, the yelling stopped like someone pushed the mute button and the yard was eerily quiet.

Dean grabbed at the zipper pull of my sweatshirt and nearly dragged me down with him. "Hey, quit that!" I cried in a hoarse whisper, trying to shove him away. He nudged me with his nose and tried to push me in the other direction.

"Cut it out, dog!" He kept pulling on me until we reached the front porch, at which point he let go and started yipping and whining like I just stepped on his tail. He wouldn't go up the stairs. Coward.

I banged on the door like I was the police. Bill answered after a few seconds and he was not at all surprised to see me. In fact, he looked downright guilty. Eric stood a couple of paces behind him, looking like a pot about to boil over. I was stunned to see him in a completely different outfit than he'd had on less than fifteen minutes before. All black - leather jacket, jeans, boots.

I didn't acknowledge it in the least.

"Here," I snapped, shoving the baking dish into Bill's arms. "Ya'll deserve each other." Then I stomped away, nearly losing my angry grace when I tripped over Dean at the foot of the stairs.

"Sookie, wait!" Bill called out.

"It's not what you think," Eric said.

"Screw you both!" I shouted over my shoulder, already back onto the cemetery path with Dean licking at my heels. I heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and picked up a little speed.

"Sookie, this is not what it appears to be." It was Bill, and I realized with annoyance that it was not Bill I wanted chasing me.

"Really? 'Cause it _appears _like you both lied to me."

"If you would just let us explain -"

"Don't bother."

Eric was suddenly in front of me, jumping onto the path and blocking my way. I gasped and nearly fell back into the grasp of Bill, who was now directly behind me. "I never lied to you," he said.

"You sure as hell left some stuff out, like the fact that you two know each other," I said, trying my best to suppress the uneasy feeling growing in my gut. This is why Gran wanted me to take self defense classes.

"I didn't know Bill had made contact with you until you told me."

"But you knew he was my neighbor."

He paused, seeming to weigh his answer. "Yes."

I let the silence between us tell him anything he needed to know about how I felt about that. Then I looked to Bill. "And you. You've been dishonest with me from the second I met you. You knew Eric came to Merlotte's. Are you watching me or something?"

He scoffed. "I would never."

"Now, _that _is a lie," Eric said, taking a few menacing steps closer to Bill, which meant he was practically on top of me. Dean was yapping up a storm, prancing around the three of us, trying to get in between Eric and me.

Bill was not phased at all. "You have no authority over me in this matter, Eric."

"You are registered in my area. That's all the authority I need." Eric's voice was almost quiet but the threat in words was unmistakable.

"Sophie Anne might disagree with you on that."

"Sophie Anne changes her playmates like she changes her shoes."

"It's treason to speak of her that way."

"And I am your sheriff. Do not forget your place, Bill. I've known her since before you were born."

The tension in the air was palpable, and I wasn't even going to pretend that I understand a word of what they were saying. My fear was growing, as I stood trapped between two angry men, in a cemetery. At midnight. This was starting to look like the first ten minutes of a Lifetime movie. Dean nudged his head under my hand and I held onto his fur for dear life. He was protecting me, that was for certain, but I doubted he'd be able to overtake both of them.

"Who is Sophie Anne?" I asked in a small voice.

"A mutual acquaintance," Bill replied.

"Well, I don't care how you all know each other - I don't care to know either one of you anymore."

Eric's hooded eyes shifted down to mine as I said this, though it was Bill that responded first. "It's too late for that. Wouldn't you agree, Eric?"

Eric's gaze softened a bit. "Unfortunately, yes, it is."

Dean growled. And when I say growled, I mean he bared his teeth and saliva dripped from his mouth. He looked like was about to chew through one of their legs. He barked and barked like wild, pushing his warm body against my legs, putting himself between me and the danger he sensed. Screw the kibble, he was getting a Milkbone.

"This isn't your concern," Bill snapped at the dog. _At the dog. _

"There are people we know that have found out about your gift," Eric said.

I blinked. "My gift."

"Your telepathy."

"My what?" I was talking, but I don't think I was in control of my mouth at that point.

I never talked openly about this with anyone, excepting my Gran. Even my parents, God rest their souls, were scared of what I could do. They sent me to therapists, neurologists, just about anyone who could tell them that their daughter was normal. Only no one ever told them that. I grew up in a town full of people who all thought I was crazy but never dared to ask why.

"Your ability to read minds," Bill explained, because apparently he thought I was stupid along with being telepathic.

"How?" I could taste bile in the back o my throat. I'd never thrown up in someone's face before, but this might be a first.

"I can't tell you that," Bill said.

"No, I mean why do they care?"

"Because you're useful to them," Eric said. "You can't read my mind, can you? Or Bill's."

I slowly shook my head. "No. Why is that, Eric?"

Dean growled again and was now pawing at Eric's boots, but Bill shoved him out of the way with a roughly thrust knee. "Stay out of this, Merlotte! Eric, she doesn't have to -"

"Shut up, Bill."

I was actively ignoring the fact that Bill had twice spoken to my dog and was now referring to him as Merlotte. I stared up at Eric, wanting more than anything to give him a chance to redeem himself. He looked down at me, and I swear he almost looked like he pitied me.

"Why is that, Eric?" I repeated.

"Because I'm a vampire."

The first time he'd said it, on my front porch steps, there had been a smack of truth to the words, and I suppose that's why I didn't laugh it away. This time, as I stared blankly at him and processed the remote possibility that I wasn't dreaming, I somehow knew it was true. Eric was a vampire, and so was my neighbor, Bill. Sam had even tried to warn me, I'd heard it clear as a bell in his head. _Vampire_. I was the virgin in the pale moonlight.

"That's why I can't hear your thoughts?"

"Yes," Eric replied.

"And you've been trying to hypnotize me, both of you. Haven't you?"

Bill raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Says the vampire in the graveyard," I snapped.

He let out a long, impatient sigh, but went on, "It doesn't work on you. We think it's something about your telepathy -"

"We?" I looked to Eric, who sort of looked embarrassed to be grouped with Bill for any reason at all.

I regarded them for a minute, my eyes switching between the two of them. They both glowed a bit in the faint light of the ancient light pole at the center of the cemetery. I noticed other things now, like how their facial hair never changed. Bill had his oddly old fashioned sideburns, Eric with his perfect shave, never a whisker to be seen. Bill had a funny way of speaking sometimes, like the perfect southern gentleman. Eric didn't give much else away, but there was something about his imposing size and calculating eyes that made me think one word - warrior.

I could've freaked out. I could've screamed and run away, or started reciting my Hail Mary, but I just stood there. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as the severity of my current situation sank in. I don't scare very easily as a rule, and I can't say I was scared of either one of them, but I couldn't help but think of the fact that they drank blood to survive. In fact, Eric had already tasted my blood.

But I was also curious. "The woman in the bar?"

"My progeny, Pamela."

"And Vlad?"

Bill's eyes flicked over to Eric and he looked confused, but we both ignored him. "He's not as friendly as Bill and I."

"No kidding," I scoffed. "So, Sophie Anne is?"

"The queen of Louisiana," Eric said.

I slowly nodded. "Which makes you..."

"One of her sheriffs."

"A vampire sheriff," I mumbled, then I looked to Bill. "And what about you?"

He smiled and it made me want to squirm. "Just your neighbor."

"That is yet to be determined," Eric said through clenched teeth.

There was a lot going on behind those words, but I knew for certain that I could not trust Bill. Gran was not going to take this well. Not that she had a vampire neighbor, but that a possible relationship with Bill had now gone the way of the dinosaurs.

It made my heart hurt a little to stand there in front of Eric and pretend I wasn't thinking at all about that kiss, because I was. But if I felt that pang in my gut already, the one I got when I realized someone was being untruthful, I couldn't ignore it. Vampire or human, a liar is a liar, and while he hadn't technically lied to me, he hadn't been completely honest either.

I also couldn't ignore the fact that if I stayed there with them for even another minute, that wasn't being curious. That was just being plain ol' dumb.

"I need to be getting home," I said in nearly a whisper, taking a few steps back.

Eric countered my steps. "It's not safe for you anymore."

"Oh, I'll be just fine. You know me, I always manage." I took a few more steps back.

"Eric's right," Bill said. "There are those among us that would use your gifts."

"Like Sophie Anne? Tell her thanks, but no thanks."

Bill smiled indulgently at me. "I'm afraid it's not that easy."

"Sure it is. Tell her I'm not interested, end of story." Then I looked to Eric. "And you can tell Dylan that I quit."

"Don't overreact," Eric said. "You don't have a lot of options right now and there's much we need to discuss."

Dean the dog was now yipping at an unbearable pitch and I did my best to ignore it. "Overreact? you think this is overreacting? Shoving a stake up your ass wouldn't be overreacting."

Eric didn't appreciate that. With a wet _snick_, his fangs popped out and I was suddenly standing face to face with a predator. "You'll have to shove it in my chest, not my ass, first of all. And I'd like to see you try."

We stared at each other; I was breathing hard, he didn't seem to be breathing at all. My cheeks burned when I remembered how cold and soft his lips were, how he'd tasted my blood and looked at me like he wanted to drink me like a juice box.

"I'm going home now. You may not follow me. You may not come onto my property." I dared to turn my back to them, and Eric grabbed me by the upper arm. The pressure under his fingers was just strong enough to let me know that he could squeeze a hell of a lot harder if he so chose to.

The barking stopped very suddenly, and I was afraid Bill hurt the dog. When I turned to see, the air shimmered between us, like when you look far away over a hot road, then there was a strange melty sound. What happened next, well, there are very few words to explain it so I'll just say it. Dean the dog was gone, and Sam Merlotte was standing in his place. The four of us were all so close that I was pushed back a little by Sam's body. Sam's naked body. Bill had his fangs out now as well, and Eric did not let me go.

I didn't breathe.

"This doesn't involve you, shifter," Eric said.

"That's where you're wrong." There was an edge to Sam's voice that I'd never heard before. He stood his ground, despite the fact that he was all sweaty and naked as the day he was born. I pretended not to notice his butt pushing against me.

It's hard to explain what I was thinking at that moment. I was being held by two vampires and I was fairly certain I'd just watched my boss transform from a dog into a very naked, sweaty man. I don't think any of us knew what to say because we all just stood there for what seemed like a crazy amount of time.

"Sam..." I finally managed.

"You go ahead, Sookie," he said. "I'm right behind you."

I looked down at Eric's hand and he let me go. There was something akin to regret on his face as I turned away from him. I wasn't leisurely strolling but I also didn't hurry, because what was the point? If he wanted to catch me, he would.

After a minute I heard the sound of bare feet pounding the earth and I knew Sam was behind me. One half-glance gave me a view of more than I ever wanted to see of him. (Well, that's not exactly true, and I'm happy to report that all of his parts were in place.) I took off my sweatshirt and tossed it over my shoulder at him, which he promptly tied around his waist. I tried not to visualize what was now resting comfortably in my hood.

We walked in silence for while, but my curiosity finally got the better of me. "You stronger than them?" I asked.

"No...I just surprised them I think."

"So, you're a...dog?"

"I'm a shifter. I was born this way."

"And you can just change? Into a dog?"

"Mammals mostly, they're the easiest."

"It's not a full moon," I observed.

"That's a were, I'm not a were," he said quickly, almost snapping at me.

"As in werewolves? There's werewolves too?"

"Among other things. You don't wanna mess with them."

"I'll take your word for it."

More silence. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't listening for the sound of flapping bat wings behind us, but I felt a certain amount of comfort having Sam next to me. I knew he would never let anything happen to me, but I couldn't help feeling angry at him, and I don't really care if that sounded selfish or unjustified. I was mad at the other two, but mostly I was hurt that Sam had kept something like that from me for so long.

"I let you into my house," I said. "I fed you and rubbed your head."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" I exclaimed. "You're sorry when you step on someone's foot or forget to wash the dishes. This goes way beyond saying sorry."

"I was trying to protect you." Now it was his turn to raise his voice, as he trotted faster to keep up with my pissed-off power walk. "You're walking head first into a hornet's nest right now."

"I was doing just fine back there."

He made a _pfft_ noise. "Another minute and they woulda been sucking on you."

"Eric would never know that." The words escaped my mouth before I even thought them. Damn mouth.

"You really believe that?" he cried. "Don't be naive, Sookie. You don't know who he is, alright? You don't fuck with him, no one does."

We had now reached the backyard. I stomped up the back steps, flying past the forgotten little plate of cold cuts, then flipped around and stared down at him with fire in my eyes. "I may be naive, Sam, and I might not know about all of this vampire shit like you do, but I am not stupid. And I know when a friend is lying to me."

He let out a big sigh, hanging his hands on his pink velour covered hips. "I never lied to you. I just left some things out. And I don't think I'm the only one that's done that."

When I understood he was not referring to Eric or Bill and that I was about to walk on some hypocritical ground, I backed down a bit. Begrudgingly. We just stood there under the floodlight, looking at our feet.

He picked up the saucer, handing it to me awkwardly. "Thanks for the supper."

"You're welcome," I grumbled.

"You want your sweatshirt back?"

"You gonna walk home?" I asked, and he knew what I meant.

"Not like this."

"Well, give it back then, I guess." So he untied and tossed it to me, and I tried very hard to keep my eyes off Mr. Happy, which was pretty difficult. Maybe I wouldn't be so annoyed the next time I caught him eying up my boobs.

Then he just changed. The air got all shimmery and he simply melted down into the shape of Dean the sheepdog - fur, tail, the whole deal. He nodded his head toward the backdoor and I knew he wasn't gonna leave until I was inside. Through the screen door, I watched him trot over to the edge of my yard, where he curled up in a little red and white ball and sat sentry in front of the cemetery walkway.

Sleep was not coming anytime soon. Quietly as I church mouse so I wouldn't disturb Gran, I went around the house and checked all of the locks on the windows and doors. Rationally, I knew this wouldn't make much of a difference to someone with supernatural strength that really wanted to get into my hose, but it made me breathe a bit easier as I walked to my room.

As I took out a clean nightshirt and got changed, I peeked through the window, just to see if Sam was still there. I felt a pang of guilt when I realized that he planned on staying out there all night. Every hour or so, I found myself checking the window, looking to see his furry form. Around daybreak, when the sky was lightening but the shadows were still hanging from the trees, he wandered off in the direction of the parish road, and I was finally able to fall asleep.

I avoided Sam at all costs the next day. If he was in the office, I was on the floor. If he was in the kitchen, I used the window. If he was in the storeroom, I asked Arlene to fetch something for me or made do with what I had. Sorry, Jane Bodehouse, no onion for your gimlet today.

As the afternoon wore into evening and he got behind the bar, it was a little tougher to ignore him, but I managed to do just that until the dinner rush was over. I was filling three pitchers for Jason and his road crew, when he trapped me.

"Sookie, listen..." His hands were in his pockets and he was looking real sheepish.

I put my hand up in protest. "Sam, I don't wanna talk about it. I absolutely do not want to talk about it."

He sighed heavily and planted himself firmly in my way, hands on the bar and the liquor shelf. That was about as confrontational as Sam usually gets, but I had a feeling that he wasn't going to just let this one go.

I switched the pitchers without closing the tap, letting some beer splash us both. I ignored it. "I mean, you coulda told me. Of all people, I think I would've understood." Because frankly, I was hurt. Well, I was a lot of things at that moment, and hurt was just one of them. I was sort of glad that I was no longer the only mystical creature in the room, but I never let that show on my face. Sam and I had never had an argument before and it wasn't sitting well in my stomach.

"It doesn't have anything to do with you," he said. "I can't tell anyone."

"Except for the vampires?"

"Shhh!" He leaped toward me, looking all around to make sure no one was listening to us. "They're not the only ones around here, so lower your voice."

"Like what? Did an elf just walk through the door?"

"No, but the two weres sitting over at table four just heard you, and they know who you are now."

I whipped around and saw two men, one in his fifties, and the other, maybe early thirties. The older one looked proper enough, business casual type of guy. The younger man was as close to a sexy lumberjack as I'd ever seen. Dark waves of hair and a closely trimmed beard, biceps bulging under his blue work shirt. He worked for someone named Herveaux. He was looking at me, but quickly turned his eyes away when I caught him.

I finished filling the pitcher in silence before I switched to another one. "So, you've known about me this whole time?"

"I had an idea, just like everyone else, I guess."

"You never said anything."

"It's not my place," he said quick enough. "We all have our own fair share of secrets, Sookie. You shouldn't take this so personally."

"I can and I will." Because I was just that stubborn, and at the moment, I didn't feel like being particularly reasonable.

He shook his head a bit and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. "You ever take a look in my head?"

"It wouldn't be right, you're my boss."

"Thought I was your friend too."

"You are, of course."

"Well, you do it to Arlene all the time."

"That's 'cause she walks around here thinking things like she's talking out loud," I said. "Some people are like that. You're not a good broadcaster." He shrugged and gave me a lopsided smile, like he was apologizing for his brain or something, and I felt my misplaced anger subsiding a bit. I sighed as I loaded the pitchers up onto a tray and allowed myself to smile as well. I didn't want to be mad at him anymore.

"The truth is, Sookie, I don't know what you are, and I don't know how you do the things you do. But there are lots of people out there that would do real bad things to get their hands on you. Human or supe, your talent is useful, and that puts you in danger. I never told you because I wanted to keep you out of this world as long as I could."

He laid his hand on my forearm, and this was as close as we'd ever been, asisde from a quick hug on his last birthday. "I wanted to tell you, _cher, _a bunch of times. I was the only supe in town for the longest time, until Compton came along. You make me feel less..."

I sighed. He made me feel less lonely too.

I patted his hand and nodded, my way of apologizing and ending the conversation before he said something I wasn't sure how to deal with, then I went to deliver the tray of pitchers to Jason. I felt table four watching again, but I kept my back to them for the time being. It was Arlene's table anyway.

About an hour later, someone else walked through the door of Merlotte's, and my daily share of problems got a whole lot bigger. I was waiting for a vodka tonic at the end of the bar, when Sam put down the bottle in his hand and not so subtly edged over to my side.

The woman did not smile, though she was beautiful. Her long, perfectly blonde hair moved in billowy waves, like she had a fan following her. Her makeup was subtle and flawlessly applied, and highlighted her dark blue eyes and perfect skin. The suit she wore was black and pink, making her look like an updated, angry version of Jackie Kennedy. Her heels, which were higher than anything I could ever imagine wearing, clicked on the wooden floor as she sauntered over to the bar. Everyone in the room looked up and stared as she walked by, and she knew it.

Sam gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment. "Pam."

A sunny smile suddenly appeared on her face, though I could plainly see that she wasn't planning on being very nice. "Dog." Then she looked to me. "So, you're the breather they're all making such a fuss over."

I stood up a little straighter; I didn't feel very glamorous in my Merlotte's uniform, but I had to work with what I had. "I guess so. You're Pamela."

"That's right, cupcake." Upon placing her little square handbag on a barstool, she took a small, silver cell phone out and held it out to me. "Eric wants you to have this, since you are clearly not of this century." This was vampire humor, I take it. There was a slight accent to her voice, like she was originally from England. A long time ago.

I looked at the phone, then back to her. "No thanks."

Her smile didn't falter. "Take it."

So I gave her my own fake smile, one I'd perfected over the years. "No thanks."

"Eric insists."

I shrugged. "He can insist all he wants."

"Just take the fucking phone."

"What are you, like his assistant?" I asked. That took care of the smile.

Sam leaned a little closer, whispering in my ear, "She's his second."

Pam's eyebrows went up questioningly, like she thought that was going to mean something to me. When it didn't, she went on, "I guess you're not up to date on current events, but Eric has already saved your ass twice by my count, so I'd listen to what I have to say."

This is the point where my stubbornness had set in for good and I crossed my arms over my chest. "How do you figure twice?"

"Eric thinks that Bill is working for the queen," she said. "That means she wants something from you."

"So does Eric, doesn't he?"

Pam chuckled, although I wasn't trying to be funny in the least. "Can I tell him you said that?"

"Get to the point, Pam," Sam interjected.

"Fine. Let me ask you something, sug. You know who that was you met last night? That was Vlad Dracula. As in the real Dracula. As in Vlad the impale-your-ass-on-a-stake-crazy-mother-fucker Dracula. And he has taken a shine to you, so I hear. Seems like you remind him of someone from his past."

I looked to Sam with a skeptical smile, and the amount of concern of his face downright alarmed me. "That's just a legend," he said warily.

"A legend that showed up in Shreveport and tried to eat your girlfriend here. Eric's had a hard on over meeting him for years, and boy, is he pissed." She said this with an amused smile. She was really enjoying this.

Sam looked over at me, probably shocked and annoyed that I hadn't told him any of this. "She's exaggerating," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Am I? See, he's about as bad as it gets in our world. He's a psychopath with a get out of jail free card, which means he can go anywhere and do anything he wants. He could show up here right now and order you for dinner and the only one you'd have to protect you is your shifter. So I'd get over your little southern suffragette attitude and get on board the Eric train if I were you."

I waited for Sam to say something. When he remained silent, I saw his face and realized he was worried. His brows were scrunched together and he looked like he was ready to sharpen his Louisville Slugger into a stake. He gave a small, barely perceptible nod, confirming what she'd just said. He couldn't protect me on his own.

So I took the phone.

"Fabulous," she deadpanned. "Now, if anyone talks to you or tries to harm you in any way, you call Eric immediately. If it's during the day, you can call that big hunk of meat in the corner over there. He'll be watching out for you and generally hanging around, being wolfy and whatnot. Keep the phone with you at all times. Is what I'm saying to you clear, darlin'?"

Everyone was looking at me, including the meat in the corner. Both him and the older man were turned and watching us. I shifted on my feet as I said, with no small amount of tension in my voice, "Crystal."

"Good." She smiled one of her brilliant fake smiles again, sliding the gold chain strap of her purse over her thin shoulder. "Ya 'all have a good night now, ya hear?" Her voice quickly lost its frosty English lilt and dropped into a perfect Louisiana drawl. "Don't talk to any strangers in capes."

I watched her go, we all did. She swung her tail like Jane Mansfield as she went out the door and caught the eye of the two in the corner. The older man inclined his head and Pam gave him a slight head dip, like she had to but didn't necessarily want to.

The younger man looked over to me again. There was an intensity in his eyes that scared me a little, but he had an easy going smile on his rugged face. He was not hard to look at, that was for sure. He nodded and I nodded back. I guess that was a supe thing. And I guess that word was now officially in my vocabulary.

I opened the phone and hit the contacts button. There were only three names listed. Eric Northman, Pam Ravenscroft, and Alcide Herveaux. "That him?" I asked.

Sam looked over my shoulder at the phone. "Yup. Don't know why he'd be working for Eric though."

I sighed and snapped the phone shut. Add werewolf babysitter to the list of things that were going to keep me from sleeping again that night. And strangers in capes.

_**A/N: It was just too hard to resist, all that Pam-ness. Love it! Please spread the love and leave a review. And BTW, is everyone else completely back in love with True Blood this season or what? So good, that yummy Eric in his prison clothes, grrr!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Hi guys! Sorry this update took so long, been busy with my career in the making, copy editing for fellow writers. (PM me if you're interested, shameless self-promotion intended.) I had two back to back manuscripts to finish before I could come back to this lovely little dream. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy it, it was a fun chapter to write. SO glad to be posting again, yeay!**_

**Chapter Seven**

You'd think I would be okay with all of this, being different myself, but I wasn't. Not by a long shot. The idea of a whole other world of people slinking around just under the noses of normal folks - I got that, because that's what I did every day. And maybe if I'd found out in a different way, I would've been singing in the rain about it. But as it was, I had never felt more alone.

There were people out there my entire life that could've supported me or that I could've at least identified with. What if there were telepaths all over the place and I just didn't know it? Maybe they had a union or support meetings at the VFW. (It sounds silly, but no more so than saying you are a sheriff for the queen of Louisiana.) I didn't know anyone even remotely like me and I was forced to grow up thinking I was damaged goods in a town full of ignorant people only one generation off of segregation. These supes kept their presence unknown to me only until I was useful to them, which sounded like an unremarkably human thing to do.

I wanted to be mad at Sam still, but I just couldn't be. I imagined how lonely he must've been, knowing that I was different but not being able to say anything, and it made my heart go out to him. All of the kindness he'd shown me over the years took on a sort of new life and it made me appreciate him a little more for it. It also explained why I had such a hard time reading his thoughts most times, because I guess his brain just worked a little different. I would have to ask him about it. Actually, I was gonna ask him about a lot of things.

The next day, I went on life as usual. Gran was at garden club meeting and I was on my way out the door to Wal-Mart, when there was a knock on the front door. A glance through the lace curtain revealed one large, ruggedly handsome werewolf standing on my front porch.

I opened the door and smiled at him, which he returned in a reluctant, reserved sort of way. "Alcide, right?"

He dipped his head in a quick bow. "Yes, ma'am, Alcide Herveaux. I just wanted to introduce myself to you."

"Alright. I'm Sookie Stackhouse, but I guess you already knew that."

"Yes, ma'am." He was wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a very worn-in pair of work boots. His gray knit Henley was stretched thin over his chest.

"Oh gosh, don't call me ma'am."

He nodded and gave a little shrug as he held out a small white shopping bag. "This is for you, he said you'd know what to do with it."

I took the bag and tried not to frown. "Eric?"

"Yes."

It was all of the accessories for the cell phone, brand new of course, still in their shiny plastic wrappers. Everything I could possibly need - wall plug, car charger, leather case, even one of those little hanging string thingies. It was pink and sparkly, which I hated to admit, was something I would've picked out myself.

I resisted the urge to sigh and just plastered on a smile. "Well, thanks. You wanna come in for glass of iced tea or something?" I asked, holding the door open wider.

"I don't want to trouble you." He was polite, I liked that. His voice was real deep and sort of purred like an engine. I liked that too.

"No trouble at all, considering why you're here. Come on in." He stepped into the front hallway and sort of looked enormous standing next to my Gran's antique sideboard. "Have a seat in the living room, be back in a jiff."

I reached out into his brain as he walked past me into the living room. It was a snaggled up mess, not unlike Sam's head when I took a peek in there. I could sense some broad emotions - he was very at ease in my house, for example - but I couldn't hear any specific thoughts. I definitely got the sense that he was there out of duty and nothing else, although it didn't take a telepath to notice his eyes drifting down to my cleavage.

Gran had taught me years ago how to whip up a guest snack with minimal supplies in a matter of seconds, and I had a lovely tray of mint iced tea and shortbread cookies delivered onto the coffee table within a two minutes. Alcide was sitting in the middle of the couch, taking up a good portion of it. I set a glass in front of him and offered him a cookie, which he took, and then settled down in Gran's armchair.

"Explain to me, exactly, why you are here?" I said this a very friendly way, of course, but he looked a little bristled by my bluntness. "It's just that Pam didn't explain it very well last night and I'm new to this sort of thing."

He finished half his glass and picked up another cookie. "Eric Northman asked me to watch over you during the day, make sure you're safe and that no one is bothering you."

"Why wouldn't I be safe?"

"He didn't tell me anymore than he needed to." He looked sideways at me for a second as he chewed his cookie, then asked, "Don't you know?"

"I guess I do." Crazy fictional vampire guy wants to eat me, check. "I just don't see the need for a bodyguard, especially during the day. No offense to you at all, I'm sure you'd do a great job at keeping me safe." And then some.

"Well, they have day people."

"Who?"

"The vamps." He sort of chuckled then and shook his head a bit. "You really don't know any of this?"

"I really don't."

"Well, like I said, Northman didn't tell me much."

"But you work for him?"

He looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I don't work for no vamp. He called in a favor, so here I am."

"Oh." That hit some sort of nerve which he clearly wasn't going to explain. "So what are you gonna do, follow me around everywhere I go?"

"No, he told me not to bother you. I'm just gonna check on you a few times a day and hang out for a few hours here and there. I'll be around whenever you need me."

"You're gonna stay in the house?"

"No, I'll just sit out in the truck when I'm here."

"You live in town?" I would certainly remember seeing this man in my town, as would every warm-blooded female in a ten mile radius.

"No, Shreveport. I'm staying at the motel out on route nine." I knew that place, it was terrible. There'd been a bunch of drug busts and assaults there over the past few years, although Alcide definitely looked like he could handle himself.

"For how long?"

He shrugged. "Till the job is done."

He struck me as a hard worker, and there was something very honest about the way he was simply answering every question I could throw at him. I felt bad for him, sleeping in that gross little place, and even worse, I felt guilty that he was involved in this because of me.

"Will you at least stay for dinner?" It was hours before dinnertime but the words just blurted out.

"Uh..." He cleared his throat a bit. "I don't want to bother you."

"It's no bother," I said quickly. "Wouldn't have asked otherwise. It's just Gran and I, and we always have leftovers." And before he could protest any further, I added, "If you say no, I'll just bring it out to you in a Tupperware."

I was certain he realized this was a battle he wasn't going to win, and I was even rewarded with a brilliant smile, shiny teeth and all. "Alright then, thanks."

"Chicken casserole okay with you?"

"Sure."

"Alright," I said, and we both stood up. "Well, I'm gonna head out to do some chores then, hit the market real quick."

I didn't imply I wanted any company and he didn't try to tag along. He just went out to his truck and followed me as I pulled out of the driveway a few minutes later. He sat in the parking lot, very close to the door, and then followed me home. If I hadn't known he was there, I probably wouldn't even have noticed him.

I had to lie to Gran about who he was, and that troubled me some, but I knew it would be a lot easier than sitting her down for the vampires and werewolves talk five minutes before he knocked on the door. Gran took my story at face value when I explained that he was a friend of Sam's in town on business and had no one looking after him. This, of course, immediately elicited her sympathy and he was welcomed with open arms.

Alcide did his part, playing the role of the happy house guest. Turns out he owned a contracting company with his father, the other man at the bar, and he knew a lot about landscaping. This gave him and Gran endless topics to discuss, and I was content to take over the cooking and serving for once. After dinner was finished, Alcide washed and I dried. He was easy to be with and his thoughts matched his words, which was a nice change. I couldn't read everything, but what I could get was uncomplicated and sincere.

Gran and I stood side by side on the front porch, watching him walk away, although I hope she was watching him for a whole other reason than I was. While I was admiring how he filled out his jeans, Gran had that glint in her eye that she always got when a suitable young man came within spitting distance of me. I'd have to fix that notion real quick, seeing how I was neck-deep in trouble already. Dating a werewolf would certainly not improve the situation.

By then, I was itching to get out of the house. There was an errand I needed to run, and the sooner I got it done and over with, the sooner I could try to move on with my life, be as it may. As soon as Gran was settled in for the night, I threw my script in my purse and heading toward Shreveport. I was supposed to be at rehearsal at seven, but I was aiming to get there before everyone else. I knew Dylan always got there early to set up the props and stage stuff with Jeanette. I wanted this to be dignified, but also private. I'd have to deal with the wrath of Tara later.

Dylan had not called me. Even more shocking was that he did 't return my calls when I left two messages. Either Eric never said anything to him or he was super mad at me. Either way, I couldn't avoid talking to him forever, and it was only right that I spoke to him in person.

Honestly, I didn't want to quit the play. I was proud of myself for leaping completely out of my box. There were issues, sure, but there would be issues in my life whatever I chose to do with it. I was actually starting to trust myself up on that stage, but I knew the confidence I felt was all due to Eric's presence, and I didn't trust him at all. Worse, I didn't trust myself around him. I had a lot of things to suddenly sort out and my feelings, or whatever they were, were getting too complicated.

The forty minute drive turned into over an hour because of rush hour traffic and it was well after dark by the time I got to Shreveport. The Eric cell phone, which I'd unceremoniously tossed into the console cubby the night before, stared at me the whole drive. (It was as much of a comfort to have as it was a dig on my pride.) Even Toby Keith singing about cold cream and grandmas wasn't enough to lighten the funk that hung over me.

When I pulled into the parking lot, the only car I recognized was Eric's. Brilliant. Dylan's sticker-covered green Camry wasn't there either, but there was another parking lot around the other side of the building, so I decided to head in and take a quick peek. There was a good chance Eric would be on stage anyway, so maybe if I ran in and ran out I wouldn't even have to talk to him.

I carefully eyed the area around his car for a few seconds, making sure no one was about to swoop out of the shadows, then I hopped out and ran across the street. No, I mean I _ran_.

It only took me a moment to realize that the place was empty. There were no echoing voices, no cast members lazing in the lobby. When I stepped into the auditorium, the house lights had been dropped to a hazy level and the stage lights were up about half way, creating a dim orange-ish glow.

The stage was set with large faux marble statues and white mausoleums - the St. Louis Cemetery scene. The irony of this scene was not lost on me. Eric sat on a marble bench, his long legs crossed at the ankles, dressed in black trousers and a burgundy colored silk shirt. But the thing that caught my eye was his hair. While before it had been cropped very close to his neck, it now flowed down to rest on the top of his shoulders. I didn't doubt for a second that it was his own.

"Hello, lover," he said, giving me that trademark half smile. I was beginning to realize that the sound of his voice made my insides warm, whether I was mad at him or not.

"Don't call me that."

The smile broadened. "Hello, Sookie," he corrected.

"What's with your hair?"

He looked up and gave a careless shrug. "I had cut it short the day I met you, so I've had to keep cutting it. This is what it looks like when I wake up."

I pretended not to be affected by something as superficial as a hair style, but Holy Jesus, he looked like he should've been on the cover of a romance novel. "Where is everyone?"

"They have the night off."

I knew for a fact that half of the cast was on the call sheet. "What about Dylan?"

"Dylan too."

I eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "I need to see him and he won't return my phone calls."

Eric shrugged. "Too bad he's not here."

"And you wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"

He paused, dramatically. "I may have persuaded him." I knew he admitted that only because he wanted to. That's probably how a lot of things went for this guy.

I threw my purse down onto a nearby seat and crossed my arms over my chest. "What do you want, Eric?"

"You."

"You can't have me." I didn't flinch as he started taking slow steps toward me, slinking like a cheetah.

"I think I can."

"You can't hypnotize me, remember?"

"It's called glamouring, and I won't have to."

We were suddenly playing vampire chicken, as he got so close to me that I had to crane my neck up just to look at his face. I didn't look away though, so he nestled his body against mine and my boobs pushed onto his chest. His hair hung down and tickled the skin above the neckline of my v-neck tee-shirt, causing tiny goose bumps to raise up all down the front of me. No worries, just a friendly hug. When his hands even dared to brush my bottom, I finally broke the stare and stepped around him, trying to look casual about it but feeling defeated and jittery from his touch.

I strolled up onto the stage, pretending to be very interested in the progress of the set. "Very subtle, by the way," I said, indicating toward a grave marker with a pointed finger.

His eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch, like he was surprised I was calling him on his bullshit. "Our last conversation in a cemetery was rudely interrupted."

"You could call it a conversation, I guess," I said. "I'd call it running for my life."

"You didn't look that scared."

He had me there. I stared back at him, searching my brain for a smart-ass comeback to throw in his face but coming up with nothing. "Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"So uncouth," I exclaimed. "You faked me out before with all those good manners and chivalry."

"Being uncouth is the least of my concerns. Even as you stand there with a pout on your face, I can hear your heart rate accelerating. I can smell your desire to be with me."

I actually gulped, swallowing back a mouthful of saliva, and I was left speechless. It's hard to argue with someone who can _smell your desire_. It's also hard to bluff someone who can hear your heartbeat from across the room, but that was exactly what I was trying to do, and it was pissing me off. Gone was the usual snarky Sookie who could rebound handsy truckers in a single swipe, and in her place was a person that couldn't even handle some good old fashioned dirty talk.

I stared down at my own sweaty hands. "Look, I just came to give the script back."

"You give up easier than I thought you would."

"No, I don't."

"Then explain."

I let out an enormous sigh and looked anywhere but at him. "It's just that...this is supposed to be fun. But now it won't be. It'll just remind me of how different I am from everyone else."

He didn't say anything for a moment. I looked up with wary eyes, but his face gave away nothing. Finally, in a very neutral voice, he said, "Then give it to me and be done with it."

"Fine." I pushed past him and grabbed my purse, digging around until I whipped the book out and thrust it at him. The irritation on my face wavered as tiny yellow Post-its fell out of the script and fluttered to the ground all around me.

He looked down at my hand for a split second, then grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to him in one fluid motion and kissed me. I struggled against his grip, but I might as well have been fighting one of the statues staring at us from the stage. When he pushed me up against the wall, I forgot myself. Have I mentioned that he's an incredibly talented kisser? Like take-your-breath-away-and-make-your-knees-weak good? And I don't mean that figuratively, I mean I actually went spaghetti legged and he held me up. My feet were just brushing the floor and I kissed him back, if only for a moment. A tiny groan escaped my throat and that was all he needed. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and I heard the _snick_ of his fangs popping out.

"Stop it," I exclaimed, gasping for air and giving a great heave against his chest. He let me go with a roll of his eyes.

"I grow tired of this game, woman," he grumbled.

"You lied to me."

"I did nothing of the sort."

"You can't just take whatever you want -"

"I can and I will," he said very quickly. "And it would be a nicety if I didn't let anyone else do it in my place."

He let that statement sink in for a few seconds, long enough for me to conjure up a good mental picture of some other vampire sucking on me. I imagined someone old, or short and ugly. Or Christopher Lee. It was then a small mental hop to Vlad, and Eric's point was made.

"Now, I have ignored three phone calls from the queen's office in the past two days. I am trying to stall whatever is going to happen next, but if she wants you, there will be no stopping her under current circumstances. The only way this won't happen is if you belong to another vampire, and even then, she'll have her methods."

I suddenly remembered that moment in the parking lot, and what Eric had said. _She's mine. _"And I suppose you're the vampire I would belong to?"

"That wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

I simply chose to ignore that comment. "What does she want from me?"

"To work as her telepath."

"And if I say no?"

"Then it will probably be the last thing you say." It was a simple statement, but it said a lot about the reality I was now facing.

I looked back at him with fire in my eyes. Death was not a vague concept to me, and it hadn't been since I was seven, but thinly veiled threats did not sit well with me. I had never been in the position of not having any choices, because frankly, I refused to let anyone or anything control my fate. For the first time in my adult life, I was out of choices and I felt helpless. At his mercy, which was precisely what he wanted. At least I could appreciate his candor.

Finally, I let out a slow sigh and slumped into the nearest seat. "I don't wanna be part of this anymore."

"It's too late for that," he said.

There was something else bothering me, I realized. Putting Gran and everyone in my life in danger was the first worry I had, of course. Having a vampire as a next door neighbor was like living my own southern-fried version of _Fright Night. _ But they were all making such a fuss over me, and this is the part I didn't get. I was a true nobody from a truly nowhere town.

"Am I the only one?" I asked, my voice very small and defeated.

He must've sensed my frustration, because his gaze immediately softened and he looked down at me with eyes that were almost sympathetic. "No, I've met a few telepaths over the years. They were delicious."

I was about to curse his daddy's name when I noticed he was smiling. "You shut up," I snapped. "I'm being serious."

He sat down next to me, once again squeezing his enormous frame into one of those tiny theater seats. "Telepaths are rare in our world but not unheard of," he said. "Merlotte was either very wise or very stupid by keeping you all to himself."

"Sam didn't know." As soon as I said it, I knew it wasn't true, and Eric confirmed this with the dubious look he shot me. "Well, what good would it do him anyway?"

"The choirboy of Bon Temps? Knowing him, no good at all. But the rest of us were bound to come knocking sooner or later."

"And, uh..." I tried to sound nonchalant but it came off more as on the edge of a mental breakdown. "And what usually happens to people like me?"

He hesitated. "A regent would keep you in there retinue."

"What does that mean?"

"That even though you would be well paid for your services and you'd have a very congenial relationship with Sophie Anne, in actuality you would be hers, to do whatever she wants with. And you would be in her employ indefinitely, at her beck and call until you're dead or until she's bored of you."

"Well, she's obviously never met a Stackhouse before, because the only people that ever tell us what to do is the IRS." Even I didn't believe the forced bravado of these words, but he at least did me the courtesy of remaining silent. He just sat there, waiting for it all to sink in.

"And what about if I...belonged to someone?" I asked after a minute.

He leaned in very close, like he was about to tell me the most wonderful, sprinkle-covered secret. His heady scent hit my senses and I quickly exhaled, trying to get it out of my nose. It was like catnip. _Control yourself, girl... _

"You would be protected, but still employed by Sophie Anne. More importantly, you would be protected from Dracul."

"Dracul." I repeated the name slowly. This part was just too much to fathom, the real Dracula. It was like finding out that _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _was a documentary. "He's really...I just have a hard time believing all this."

"Believe it or not, it doesn't matter. He'll take you as his own without a second thought. We were lucky it didn't come to that the other night."

"What if it had?" I asked.

"He could've tried." He gave a small, amused grin as he said this, and I knew that Eric would've taken care of business. That was a somewhat comforting, if not thoroughly disturbing thought. "But he is protected by our laws. No vampire can harm him."

"Why is he so special?"

Eric seemed to sigh, which seemed like a very human trait for a vampire. I liked seeing him do that. "He brought Eastern European vampires into a new era," Eric said. "This is a very superstitious area of the world and before him, vampires were like animals - living in caves and sneaking in windows. Dracul was a ruthless and cunning ruler, a psychopath by modern standards. Once he was turned, he lived in the open with no regard for the consequences, much as he did in his human life. But he protected his kingdom even after his death and is still considered to be a hero by many. This is why there are so many legends about him. It was only a matter of time before someone wrote a book, and the rest is history. He is certainly not the oldest or most powerful vamp out there, but he is the most famous."

"It sounds like you look up to him."

He lightly shrugged. "I admire his honesty. He lives without pretense."

"So that makes him..." I pretended to be thinking back to my history lessons, however, this was never one of my strong subjects. I hadn't even known Dracula was a real guy until Pam said so.

"Roughly seven hundred years old."

My eyes bugged out, but I managed to keep myself from saying anything ignorant. "And that makes you..."

Eric just smiled. "Much older."

"And stronger?" I was only encouraging him at this point.

"I could break him over my knee. And after the other night, nothing in the world would make me happier."

"But you can't touch him, even if you're older and bigger and he was disrespectful to you?"

"It would mean true death for me, and your life would be good as forfeit."

I sighed, folding my hands in my lap. "So we're helpless."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, for as long as his pride would allow him. "Being helpless is not an acceptable option."

"So what do you suggest?" He smiled like I'd just handed him the eyes to Graceland, and I regretted the question the second it came out of my mouth.

He leaped out of his seat and grabbed me by the hand, dragging me up onto the stage. Only at that moment did I notice how lovely the set actually was. The bench looked like real granite, and the mournful angel statues loomed high over our heads. The white mausoleums - large, rectangular boxes painted to look like St. Louis Cemetery's infamous crypts, right down to the voodoo x's scrawled on with red crayon, where lined up on either side of the stage. New Orleans is below sea level, so no one can be buried underground in the city. It's said to be a maze of statues and ritual, and it was being beautifully reconstructed right on this tiny little stage.

There as a glitter in his eyes that can only be described as troublesome, and he gestured outward triumphantly with both arms open to the set. "If they want a show, we will give them a show."

I looked at him questioningly. "Okay..."

"My sources in Sophie Anne's compound tell me that Dracul has been living in the French Quarter for some time. Sophie Anne is less than thrilled with this."

"Why?"

"Because she's a brat and is used to getting her way, without exception, but even she is not above Dracul's immunity. Her staff has been cleaning up after his mess for months, and apparently, he's a messy eater."

"Eww."

"So, I say we show them a little _Théâtre Des Vampires,_" he said.

"What's that?"

"A little homage to another literary vampire, lover. And something that Dracul will be unable to resist. Vampires playing humans playing vampires."

"Well, aren't you doing that already?"

"Yes, but on opening night, when the front row fills with Sophie Anne and her entourage, they will be the only ones that know that. They want Dracula to fly, so he will fly. They want blood and fangs, I will be happy to oblige."

He was on a roll, describing how he'd simply glamour a few of the crew members and none of the actors would be the wiser, because they'd all think it was effects. I was sure he wouldn't have a problem glamouring every damn one of them, including the cast. I was also sure that this was going to somehow involve _my _blood, which made my stomach flutter with anxiety.

He went on, "This will no doubt amuse Dracul, which will piss off Sophie Anne to no end." He had a proud smile on his face, because I was sure this scenario would give Eric a certain amount of pleasure as well. I was beginning to understand the way this man thought, and all I can say is that I was glad he was on my side.

"But why would you want to piss off Sophie Anne?" I asked. "Being your queen and all, and apparently, the keeper of my future freedom."

"I don't _want to,_" he explained. "I want to please my regent. And pleasing her most honored guest would be an act of fealty on my part."

This guy was good. He almost had me believing it. I looked back at him and he looked alive, invigorated. It was the most I'd heard him talk since we met. It made me very curious about who he really was all of a sudden, and what he was like when he was human. Maybe he'd been a general or a politician or something conniving like that. Manipulation seemed like it was in his blood.

"Eric, I'm not letting you bite me."

His face immediately changed, and that cool, sly smile I'd become familiar with rolled back onto his lips. "You'd spoil the fun, lover."

"I'm serious. Those fangs are not coming anywhere near me."

He might as well have had on a pair of X-ray glasses, for the way he very slowly and thoroughly looked me up and down. "Sookie, while the thought of taking you in many creative ways and positions has crossed my mind on more than one occasion, I am suggesting this from a purely practical standpoint."

My cheeks burned like I was about to have a hot flash. "Which is?"

"This would show them all that you are unequivocally mine."

"You said Dracul doesn't have to follow your laws."

"No, but Sophie Anne does. And if she sees that you are my human, then there is a very good chance that she will play nice. This will also send a very clear message to Dracul."

"I don't know," I sighed. "What if she doesn't buy it?"

"In the time I've known her, I have been a good sheriff and she has asked me for several as-of-yet unreturned favors. My area also makes a substantial amount of money for her every month. She has no reason to upset the balance between us. That being said, I am offering my help and I suggest you take it." When I didn't respond after a few seconds, he got real close to me again and I could feel his cool breath on my skin as he spoke. "Or perhaps you'd like to call on Bill Compton to be your savior."

_Bill Compton_. Even hearing his name burned my butter. If there was anyone who'd been truly dishonest, it was Bill. I was just glad I'd caught on right in the beginning, before he tried to hook me with that charm of his. (It was hard enough keeping track of myself around Eric.) So, there would be no more deliveries to the Compton house, and I certainly wouldn't be asking him for any help in the near future, but I didn't really feel like admitting to Eric that it seemed like he was right. He was making some valid points, if we lived in the Land of Supernatural Nonsense, which apparently we did.

I looked down at my feet, avoiding the stare of those icy denim-colored eyes, even for a few seconds. "What if I'm not good enough to pull this off?" I mumbled.

"Then I will make you believe too," he replied, his voice suddenly dipping into his Romanian accent, and he tenderly ran a few fingers down the side of my neck. I didn't move away from his touch, but my eyes followed every move he made. "You are my Mina, and I am your Count. You have enchanted me, and you will join me in my eternal night. One bite, my love. It won't hurt...much."

I let out an airy chuckle and rolled my eyes. Still, my voice was barely above a whisper. "Said every guy I've dated since the tenth grade."

Eric smiled, only it was a real smile this time, not one of his self-appreciating grins. His eyes even smiled. "It really won't hurt. Not the way I do it."

"Oh, I'm sure you're very good at what you do." With no ulterior motives what so ever.

"I don't think that description is quite adequate, Sookie," he said.

I rolled my eyes again. This was becoming an involuntary bodily action for me when I was around him, like breathing or blinking. "Let's just rehearse the scene, Count."

I was so screwed.

_**Please let me know what you think! Hit that review button. Next up, an unwanted guest makes an appearance at the old Stackhouse homestead. Dun dun dun...**_


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